Lost and Found
by Pereybere
Summary: With a hefty price put on Booth’s head after he puts Columbian drug dealers in prison, he is forced to flee with his son once the child’s mother is murdered. Brennan takes the news of his departure with drastic consequence.
1. Death Threats

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **They're not mine.

**Rating: **This one is rated M. The whole story will be rated the same.

**Summary: **With a hefty price put on Booth's head after he puts Columbian drug dealers in prison, he is forced to flee with his son once the child's mother is murdered. Brennan takes the news of his departure with drastic consequence.

**A/N: **I think I like this one more than Captive Souls. I have a lot of stories in the pipeline but this one has caught my attention because I can play a lot. Let me know if you like.

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They told him there was a threat upon his life.

Cullen, with his expressionless monotone explained with brutal honesty that, after busting an international drug ring from Columbia and ensuring fifteen men were convicted under US law, a price would be paid for his head.

"They found Rebecca," he whispered to her, his head pressed against her doorframe as though he were a defeated and broken man, "in her home, shot four times. Once through the head." He swallowed hard, the sound audible in the tangible silence. "Parker was with his babysitter in Arlington… but there is no doubt in anyone's mind that, had he been with his mother, he'd surely be dead too." His fingers flexed, tugging on the collar of his shirt. "They want to hurt me, Bones, as that means murdering my family, one by one. Cullen thinks I should take Parker and get out of here."

Temperance Brennan blinked, her arms crossed over her torso, her eyes turning to hardened stone. Granite. Impassive and dark. "I don't understand what you're telling me, Booth," she said, tapping the toe of her shoe against the floor. Her back ached, her spine stiffened and all her muscles tensed into hard bunches.

"I have to leave Washington," Booth said, his eyes swirling, the colour of milky coffee in the muted light of her hallway. "Cullen thinks it's best…"

"What does Cullen know?" Brennan snapped. "What about my friends? Are _they_ safe? They helped to convict these people too, you know…" Booth was still for a long moment before lifting his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers over her silken jaw line, across her rosy cheeks, blinking with the slow sadness of a melancholy dog.

"This is so like you, Temperance," he said, his knuckle grazing her ear. It took all her resolve not to tremble in response to his touch. A touch she'd become dangerously accustomed to. "You did the majority of the work in finding evidence to convict these bastards, yet you aren't concerned for your own welfare. That is so you," he repeated, his fingers lacing in her air, in the way an expert weaver might weave silk. "Lovely, selfless Temperance." She shook herself free of him, filled with hurt and fury that no amount of nice words could erase.

"And what are you? Selfish Seeley? How dare you turn up at my home and tell me you're leaving. How…" she sucked a quivering breath into her lungs, burning her throat as she did. "You told me it would take… how did you phrase it? Oh yes, 'an apocalypse' before you would leave. I hardly call a few blood thirsty men an apocalypse." Booth reached for her again, missing her by inches when she sidestepped him.

"I have to. For my son. He's in danger…" he tried to explain, easing the door shut behind him as he stepped out of the hallway and into her home. "Surely you understand…?" She turned her back on him, striding across the living room to the window, her body rigid with anger as she folded her arms again, listening as the wind howled through the buildings on her street and the rain plummeted with terminal intensity. It was cold outside and inside.

"I understand that you are a coward," she bit, her tone sounding like broken glass. "That you're willing to sacrifice…," she swallowed, "our partnership because you don't want to fight anymore." Booth sighed, watching as her shoulders lifted, almost touching her ears as she tried to block out the fury she felt. He had hurt her with a blow tantamount to pulling her heart from her chest, but as he thought of his son, vulnerable little Parker, unable to understand why his mother had been murdered, he knew that he had to put his little boy first. Brennan would understand too. He knew she would.

"Temperance…"

"Leave, Booth. Just… leave." She sounded defeated, her voice a breathy whisper as she struggled to revive her dying anger. Instead of taking a step backwards he moved forward with tentative steps, silent like a stealthy cat. She was trained in martial arts, educated in how to sense an approaching predator. Her skills did not let her down, tonight. "I can hear you, do _not_ touch me, Booth." The broken glass was sharpened now, carrying the same threat as titanium knives.

He was perhaps a coward when it came to running away, protecting his son. But he was not afraid of her. She could unleash any number of dangerous moves on him, leave his bones broken and his head in a mess, but a determination had taken residence in his body and all he wanted was to comfort her, soothe away her pain and promise that he'd return to her, their partnership, as soon as he was safe to do so.

"Bones…" An extremely petulant part of her mind barked out a command that he not call her 'Bones'. She hadn't said it in months. She hadn't wanted to, because she'd grown accustomed to it. To him. To them. "Okay," he whispered, so close to her back that he could feel the pulsating heat radiate from her body, "Temperance, then. Temperance, I'm sorry…" He was. He'd never been so sorry for anything in his life. Not even for what he'd done as a sniper. It ravaged his soul, knowing that this wonderful woman, who had trusted him implicitly, was hurt because of him.

His hand touched her waist, and her whole body tightened, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She didn't turn, nor did she warn him that if he advanced any further she would break his arm. She was more than capable of it. But her anger did not, could not, dissuade him, now. He had touched her, felt the warmth of her skin beneath the white silk shirt she wore.

His thumb traced a circle, as though he were trying to comfort her, when in reality, he was drinking in the feel of her body, soft yet firm beneath his touch. Like an addict, it wasn't long before he wanted more. Required more. He pulled the hem of her shirt up, exposing the smooth skin there and he rubbed a callous thumb across the waist. From behind, he could have assumed with almost certainty that she was seconds away from cutting his arm off. But as he glanced over her shoulder, he caught her reflection in the glass and saw the glazed impassiveness that had come over her spectacular eyes. He could only assume that she was lost in his touch.

As if of its own accord his hand had slipped around her waist entirely, stroking across the toned plane of her belly. Her image in the glass swallowed and her nostrils flared a little as she pulled a breath through her nose. He stepped closer, his body perfectly aligned with hers, the hard wall of his chest pressed against her back. It was almost as though her body betrayed her mind, for she leaned into him, yet her jaw remained tense.

"Your breathing changes," he whispered, his mouth against her ear.

"Excuse me?" she snapped, tensing when his hands slipped over her biceps, unfolding them her tight arms, stroking his palms along her forearms.

"Your breathing changes," he repeated. "I can tell when you're not angry anymore." He could, for instead of drawing deep, long breaths into her lungs, she inhaled infrequently, as though she were savouring each breath inside her body. Or she forgot to breathe entirely.

"I hate you for what you're doing to me," Brennan whispered, her eyes staring straight ahead at the blackened windows of the building opposite.

"What? For leaving or for what I'm doing to your body?" His hands had taken a lengthy trail over her arms, her waist, and now rested dangerously close to her breasts, straining against her shirt.

"Leaving," she growled, her fingers clenched into fists. "And for what you're doing to me…" He understood this. How could he touch her, make her feel the way she felt, now that he was going to leave? He pressed his lips to her ear, drawing his tongue over the soft, fleshy lobe. "You should stop now," Brennan said, shifting as if she were going to move. Booth's arms tightened, holding her in place. If she really wanted to, she could easily have eluded him. But her protests were compulsory in moments of anger. It didn't make them true.

When he touched her breasts, she melted into him, and the anger and hesitation evaporated in an instant, his hands kneading the flesh as though he wanted nothing more than to remember how she felt to his touch. The way she responded to him made his penis harden within his pants and a fiery urgency claimed his body.

He tore at her shirt, unbuttoning the garment with the speed and dexterity of a hungry man. He saw her nipples in the window, dark and tight as they pressed against her simple lace bra, standing to attention, craving his barbaric touch. When his palms skimmed across the bullet points, she arched her hips, thrusting her ass into his crotch and encountering the hard ridge of his penis.

There was a strange awareness of what they were doing, touching and fondling in front of the window, but he was addicted to the pure lust he saw in her reflection, the unselfconscious way in which her features begged for him. He pulled aside the lacy cup of her bra, pinching and rolling her nipple until the puckered flesh was inflamed and hot.

"Booth…?" she whispered, her hand covering his, urging him own, showing him exactly how she wished to be touched. It would be their only time, after all. Tomorrow he'd be gone, and there would be no more perfect sex. No more arousal throbbing between her thighs.

He slipped in front of her, bending to take the nipple into his mouth, wondering at how hard it felt against his tongue. She stroked his hair, whispering his name and begging him not to torture her. He wanted to make it last forever, to never leave the soft, malleable body that responded to readily to his touches.

He left a wet trail along her chest as he moved his kisses to her other breast, offering the same attentions to the second nipple. She sank to her knees, pulling him over her, undressing with the desperation of a dying woman. Perhaps she was dying. He saw dark, lasting sadness in her eyes when her gaze met his, her hands furiously tearing her remaining clothes off before turning her attentions to his.

When he finally thrust into her body, she felt the pain ebb away for the smallest amount of time as he moved inside her, filling her completely, making her aware of nothing but how he stretched her and made her feel, in a strange, overly romantic way, complete.

She hooked her legs behind him, thrusting her body up to meet his, her nails digging into his shoulders, tearing at his bronzed skin, words of delight spilling from her lips as she thrust.

He was mesmerised by her breasts, their heavy weight moving in tandem to her frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arm around her back, pulled her towards him and sucked a nipple beneath her teeth, listening with pure joy as she cried out, quivering around him when he bit down on the tiny nub. His own release came seconds later, coaxed by her rippling walls, milking him, tightening around his penis.

"I hate you," she hissed, thumping her hand against his shoulder, trembling amidst her climax. "I hate you. I hate you. I love you. Why are you doing this?" She was sobbing, her chest tight with her efforts. He stroked her head, smoothing her soft hair and she buried her face in his shoulder, soaking his skin with her salty tears.

"I'll come back for you, Temperance. I will _never_ leave you." She pulled away from him, as if burned.

"Hypocritical bastard," she hissed. "You are leaving me! You make love to me, and don't tell me you don't love me, and then you leave!" Booth reached for her, but she was gone again.

"I do love you," he agreed. "And I will come back."

It didn't matter what words he spoke, or how he soothed her, but she permitted him into her bed anyway. And they touched and caressed and fondled beneath the sheets, exploring and tasting until he was certain he knew every crevice of her body and she knew his.

But when she woke in the morning, he was gone, retreating into hiding and leaving her with only the memory of their single night together.

The fourth of November.


	2. No Return

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **One day I am going to surprise everyone and say I own these characters. But not today.

**Rating: **The story is an M rated story.

**A/N: **Well thank you for the amazing response to my story so far. I hope everyone will continue to read while I spin out angst – as if life isn't depressing enough! But we all know that every cloud has a silver lining _and_ Montana is pretty beautiful, isn't it. Oh, and by the way, I didn't realise until _after_ I choose the state what the same of the lake was… so it really is a coincidence. Anyway, please review. Thanks!

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As the snow melted in April and the valleys became green again, the air pungent with spicy aromatic pine. The capped mountains lost their shining glaciers and the rivers, for a few weeks, were turgid with icy spring water.

On sunny days the only reprieve from the bright light was the shaded woodland, cascading down the mountain sides like rippling green blankets, the rushing river acting like darkened creases in the material of nature.

The lakes, mirror smooth on days like today, reflected images of serene, perfect beauty. From the wooden house, perched on the hillside, he could sit outside and watch the glistening waters of what was coincidentally called Lake Seeley.

No one in Montana had mentioned the coincidence because no one he spoke to knew that this was his name. To the locals of the little village he was Daniel McClemmons, a trained marksman who earned money to look after himself and his son by working, as a freelance trainer, showing paying customers and sometimes governmental establishments, how to use weaponry.

The little one story wood cabin that he had bought for himself and Parker had two bedrooms, a large living-room with an open fire made of black slate and a fairly new deck outside that, surrounded by a redwood railing, offered glorious views of the forestry and the spectacular blue lake.

He had little time to enjoy it today, however, as he drove through the windy tree-lined roads towards Brent, a village about the size of a postage stamp where he had a twelve thirty appointment with James Carson, a twenty six year-old man with a love of firearms and a natural skill to shoot.

As with every other day since he'd arrived in Montana, Booth glanced at his reflection in the rear view mirror, playing his mantra over and over in his mind – his mental preparation, a fine tuned web of intricate lies, in case he was asked any difficult questions about his life.

His son, who he had swore would never be living under the veil of an assumed identity, was known to the locals as Parker Devon, which was perfectly alright because that _was_ his name, right up until his mother had died. If anyone asked, Rebecca died in a car accident on her way to work on the 28th of October, eight days before he moved north, setting up a quiet, simple life for himself as his precious little boy.

Negotiating his car around hairpin bends, Booth caught his reflection in the mirror for the third time, noting the darkened shadows beneath his eyes and the weary, almost determined set of his jaw. It took all of his resolve and willpower to remain secluded, far from the people he knew. The people he loved.

Rules had to be obeyed, however, and as it was, in due fairness, being Daniel McClemmons was not such a hardship. Once he stopped thinking about the life he'd left behind, it was relatively easy to appreciate the finer, less complicated things about his existence.

There was no paperwork, no superiors breathing down his neck and so long as he kept his head low and didn't draw attention to himself, there was no threats upon his, or Parker's, life.

The shooting range in Brent was a single storey red brick building that was used mostly by cops. Most of the time the place was empty, the black and white targets hanging, awaiting the perfect shot. Occasionally Detective Mueller could be found at the far corner, station one, pumping bullets into the lifeless paper, venting his frustrations. Twice a week, perhaps.

When Booth stepped into the room, the familiar scent of gunpowder lingering in the air, he realised that he was alone and James was late. As usual. There was a certain predictability about living in a place like Brent. It seemed frozen in time, the residents going about their lives with a routine pattern that was rarely, if ever, broken. The people who lived there had done so since birth and a newcomer was rare occurrence.

He'd been the stranger in town for two months, and in so many ways, he still was. Their home was hidden amongst acres of forest land, a twenty five minute drive from the town. He spoke to a select few – usually only people who paid for his training and even then, personal conversation was kept at a minimum. He liked it that way. The infrequent question about how Parker was settling into his new school was fine, there was the insignificant, perfunctory queries as to how Parker coped with the loss of his mother, to which Booth was always politely vague. He didn't arouse suspicion because his lines were practiced and spoken with such ease that there was no reason to suspect he might be lying.

"Hey, Dan," he dropped his bag to the floor, acknowledging James with the singular dip of his head. "Sorry I'm late, man." The easy drawl of his voice assured Booth that James was anything but sorry. He spent the majority of his life wandering aimlessly, late for interviews, late for work, late for appointments. Not that it mattered. By one thirty, when he finished, he'd have nothing to do until Parker finished school.

"It's fine," he said. "How's your mom?" James shuffled in the doorway, shrugging his shoulders with the same, effortless jerk as always.

"Doing better, thanks. She rests, mostly." Removing his weapon from his bag, Booth nodded, replacing the used clip with the familiar dexterity of a man who had been using weapons for a long time. He flicked the safety lock, passing the gun to James, barrel to the ground. "You don't waste much time, man," he joked, turning the cool metal over in his hand.

"You need practice," Booth said, gesturing to the target. James was good, his accuracy and his aim got better with each passing lesson and as he discharged bullet after bullet, only one missed. "Any reason why you're so eager to learn how to shoot?" Booth asked, reclined against the wall, his long, denim clad legs crossed at the ankles. "Correct your stance, you're going to miss." Advice spoken too late, James pulled the trigger and the bullet grazed the paper target, prompting the growling curse from the young man's throat.

"We live in a dangerous world, Dan," he said, straightening his spine, arms held in front, a bullet exploding from within the gun, piercing straight through the fake-human's heart. "I like to know I can protect myself." When the magazine was empty, James replaced it, not quite as effortlessly as Booth, but when a lot less fumbling.

"Wouldn't you consider a career in law enforcement?" he asked. "You're too far to the left, James, centre your aim." His student did as advised, sending a bullet through the target as with it were an effortless feat.

"I don't know…" he replied, setting the weapon on the counter. "Why didn't you? Become a police officer? You have marksman skills that have people speculating," he joked. "One rumour is that you were a trained assassin. My mom said that, if you look real close into a person's eyes, you can see whether their soul is good or whether it is bad. You don't have the eyes of a killer." Booth remained impassively calm, mulling over the words James Carson spoke. If only he knew just how many lives he had took. Assassin, no. Sniper extraordinaire, yes.

The man's words stayed with him, longer after he'd left. As Booth packed away his weaponry, zipping closed his bag, he pressed his forehead to the reinforced glass, the rounded bullet-holes in the target reminding him of the bullets he'd set through people's hearts. It never failed to disturb him, recalling all the dying breaths he'd seen. What bothered him the most, though, was that, as he stood looking over the lifeless bodies, he hoped they'd rot in hell. He had never thought the punishment dealt to them in life was enough. Heaven, he had long since decided, should not be afforded to terrorists and dictators.

Some nights, as he lay alone, he wondered if he had murder in his soul. He wondered if _he_ deserved to go to Heaven. Sometimes, he didn't like his own conclusions.

"Daniel McClemmons?" his head snapped up, his own pointless musings lost as he snapped back to reality, back to the sunny April afternoon and away from the depths of his own personal hell.

"Yes," he said, turning towards the door.

"May I speak with you?" the dark haired woman asked, stepping over the threshold of the doorway, into the shooting range. He ran his eyes over the room, certain that he was entirely alone.

"What are you _doing_ here?" he hissed, his heart beating a heavy rhythm against his ribs. "You are jeopardising my son, Angela." The woman looked stunned, perhaps a little angry, her arms folded beneath her breasts, her jaw set tight.

"Don't you think I know that? Do you _think_ I'd waste six days of my life tracking you down if it weren't for something important? Jesus Christ, Booth," she sought control of her wayward anger, pulling a smoky breath into her lungs. "I had to do a _lot _of work to get here. Brennan's…"

The single word that could rip his heart out had been spoken. The reason for his inability to settle into his new life, spun inside his head like a spinning top, reminding him with each passing minute what he was missing.

"What about her?" he asked, relinquishing his defensive fire for a moment.

"She's been in an accident, Booth. Her," Angela paused, lifting watery eyes to the ceiling. "Her doctors want to call on her family because they can say with almost certainty that she'll need to be taken off her life support soon…" The words came like a sucker punch to his stomach, drawing all the breath from his lungs, twisting his gut until he thought he might vomit, right there. "Russ has been with her but I know she'd want… you."

He thought of his son, of the risks involved in giving up his assumed identity and he realised the chances of it being safe to return to DC were non-existent. The moment his feet touched the soil in Washington there would a rifle aimed at his head. His son would be orphaned, left with no one and his nightmares would double. Not only would his young mind be unable to comprehend why both his mommy and his daddy were dead, but when he was old enough to understand, he'd hate his father for stepping out of safety and into the danger zone.

"I'm sorry Angela," he said with a infinitesimal shake of his head. "I can't."

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	3. Wreckage

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **The characters mentioned within this story do not belong to me. I merely use them for entertainment purposes that doesn't offer me any money whatsoever. Shame.

**Rating: **This story is rated M for sexual themes.

**A/N: **Thanks for the support in the last chapter. I hope your attention isn't dwindling but I want to keep this as real as possible, and it's not very likely that a man with a death threat on his head is just going to come back within a single chapter. Hopefully I can keep your attention for a little while longer.

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On days like today it felt as though life weren't worth living. When the memories of her horrific accident spun around in her mind with vivid clarity she wished they had turned her life support off earlier. Perhaps if they had her body would have been too weak to continue on. Perhaps she wouldn't have to walk around with a cane, attending intensive physiotherapy twice a week.

She'd been told several times that it wasn't Brett Holden's fault that she'd almost died. He was only doing his job – and part of working for the FBI meant high speed car chases. Unfortunately when the late March snow hadn't melted his vehicle had spun with unstoppable speed across the road, careening into a tree.

For the millionth time, as she pressed her fingers to her aching leg, she wondered why she had insisted on continuing her job as a professional aide to the FBI, for the minute she'd met Brett Holden she had disliked his blatant disregard for the safety of others. He had wanted to catch the bad-guys and it made no difference whether she was in his car or not.

It bothered her more than he got away with only a scratch on his forehead while she had been in a coma for three weeks, two of which were spent in life support. It was during painful times like today that she wished they'd flicked the switch a week earlier and put her out of her damn misery.

Angela expressly disapproved of this sentiment.

"You should be grateful to be alive," she said, pouring a cup of coffee into a ceramic mug that depicted childish Disney characters. "You can walk and eventually it'll get better and you won't need the cane." Temperance pulled on the edge of her summery skirt, showing Angela the zigzag scar that tore through the milky skin of her thigh.

"Some wounds never heal, Ange," she said, passing her fingertip over the scarred tissue. "Even if I wanted to I can't wear anything above my knee because of this," she swallowed, "hideous scar. My arms," she turned her wrist, displaying the four scars that dotted her skin, stopping below her elbow. "I know I should be grateful for being alive, but I'm only human and a shallow part of me, a tiny part of my vanity, resents being mutilated because some wannabe hotshot FBI agent drove me into a tree." Taking the cup into her hands she sighed. "Dr Ingram thinks I'll be walking on my own in a few more weeks." Angela glanced up, grinning.

"Sweetie that's wonderful!" she said.

"What's wonderful? Is Booth back?" Hodgins asked, strutting along the gallery to where they sat. It was as if he had inserted a great white elephant into the conversation, for in that instant, everything stilled and Brennan's eyes darkened with the kind of hurt that looked as though she'd been ravaged by a hundred car wrecks.

"No," Angela hissed, "he hasn't. Brennan was talking about her physiotherapy, but way to go brain-buster, what a way to ruin the spirits." Hodgins looked immediately contrite, his hand hovering over Brennan's shoulder before he finally gave in and gave her a comforting squeeze.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he said, "that was really inconsiderate…" Brennan drew a mouthful of bitter coffee into her mouth.

"Yes," she said, "it was, but it's hardly the end of the world, is it? Even if he did come back, it's not as though it would be wonderful news." She sounded as though she were trying to convince herself. "No. I was telling Angela that I should be able to walk unaided soon." Jack nodded duly, smiling tightly.

"That's great, Brennan," he said not sure if he sounding convincing enough. It bothered him that she was so dismissive of her former partner and his welfare. It was so unlike her understanding temperament to be so coldly indifferent. "All your hard work is paying off…" Angela met his gaze and shook her head, telling him not to ask the nagging questions that spun inside his mind. "Does it still hurt?" Temperance looked down at the expanse of her thigh, still exposed and grotesquely red in the sunlight that streamed through the skylights above her head.

"It twinges sometimes, yeah," she replied. "But I'll be alright." Angela grinned.

"Of course you will sweetie," she said, "so no more of this gloominess, okay? Moping around does not get a job done. You're the one who always said that…" Brennan was vaguely aware of a harder time in her life when she blocked out her pain and found comfort in working as hard as she physically could. These days, however, her desire to submerge herself in her job had never been weaker and the pity she felt towards herself got stronger with each passing day. She felt cheated. Even if she would soon walk without the use of a cane her leg would never be one hundred percent again – and Brett Holden would still be perfectly healthy.

Draining her cup, Brennan thought of her decision to quit working for the FBI. It had come two weeks after she emerged from her coma. Deputy Director Cullen had begrudgingly come to visit her, hovering uncomfortably in the doorway of her hospital room. He had apologised for her accident, hoping that she would be comforted by the news that his rogue agent had been 'severely reprimanded'. She had blinked at him, filled with a certain contempt towards the man since he tore Seeley Booth out of her life.

'You expect a written warning to erase this?' she'd asked, gesturing to the bloodied bandages that were wrapped around her thigh. 'Do you think that will suffice?'

Her resignation came moments later and no amount of apologies could change her mind or weaken her resolve. Angela, despite being duly sympathetic was openly relieved at her choice. Her tasks had become increasingly dangerous and if it took a coma to make her realise it, then as far as Angela was concerned, it wasn't entirely bad. Brutal logic sometimes burned, and Temperance had never felt so burned before.

Once in her life the Jeffersonian and anthropology had seemed like everything in her world. But without the FBI it just seemed as though she went through one mediocre day after the next, analysing dated bones and wishing the clock would spin a little faster. She was wishing her life away – willing herself to slog through the mundane tasks that were delegated to her.

It was this boredom that had helped her make a decision to take a break. Six whole months of freedom to rediscover her life. She hoped to find herself, find what made her tick and if she was lucky, she would return to Washington with a new lease of life and a passion for her profession once again. Maybe it was forgiveness she needed to find in her heart. Maybe it wasn't. But since November she'd lived in a daze of gloomy depression. First she'd tried to cope with the loss of the man she'd begun to love with complete selflessness and then she'd been forced to deal with her own inability to walk.

Now that she was almost fit enough to travel, she was certain her choice was the right one. What she was not aware of was where her journey would take her or what lost souls she might encounter along the way.


	4. Road Signs to Fate

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Not now. Not ever.

**Rating: **Eventually M, again.

**A/N: **Sincerely hope everyone is enjoying. Let me know!

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"Good afternoon," the waitress said, coffee pot in hand. "What can I get you?"

Temperance turned on her stool, lifting her eyes from the Seeley Lake Pathfinder newspaper that was spread across the counter. Each time her gaze fell upon the word, her heart ached the irony and she quickly pressed on, absorbing paragraph after paragraph with careful omission. It was easier than asking herself why his absence in her life still hurt so much.

"Just a refill, thanks." The waitress duly replenished the coffee, smoothing raven black hair away from her forehead.

"Are you just passing through?" Temperance crossed her legs, recalling the past three months of her travels, and how she was quite enjoying the breezy September air in Montana. After an intensive summer that had been spent 'passing through' towns and states, she thought perhaps she'd spend a week exploring the leafy valleys.

"I was supposed to be, yeah," she replied, picking at a rich chocolate muffin that the waitress had placed before her. "But I think I might spend a few more days here." The waitress, whose name tag said 'Ruby' smiled and Brennan realised her lipstick was the exact colour of her name. "Have you lived here for long?" Ruby shrugged.

"All my life. I'm from Brent, though." Brent was a couple of miles away, set within a deep valley, Brennan could remember seeing a marker for it as she drove into Seeley Lake. It had been road signs that had changed her plans entirely – for she wasn't supposed to come here at all. But when her eyes fell upon the sign, it felt as though she were somehow meant to encounter it. Having spent her entire journey blocking out memories of her lover it felt as though nature wanted her to face her feelings and get over the damn FBI agent once and for all. "What about you, honey, where did you run from?" Brennan felt her eyes snap into focus, boring into the slate grey eyes of her waitress.

"I wouldn't say I was running, exactly," she replied, her tone acidic and in response the waitress laughed. "But I'm from Washington. DC, that is." Folding the newspaper in half, Brennan thought of her friends back at the Jeffersonian and how they had fought over the telephone when she called, two weeks ago. Zach had demanded to know if she'd encountered anything interesting, Hodgins had been acutely interested in her stay at Nevada, throwing in 'Area 51' with his usual lack of decorum and Angela had asked if she had 'got laid, yet'. She missed them all, but not enough to go home. There was still too much to see, too much to do and so many things about herself that she hadn't yet discovered.

Ruby wiped a damp cloth along the counter, nodding her head as if she understood all the mysteries of the universe. "You must be looking for a nice retreat in the great outdoors, huh? I suspect all people from the concrete jungles of our great cities are looking for some nice clean air. I know a great lodge in Brent, if you haven't found accommodation, yet." Brennan thought of the times she'd searched for a place to stay, and ended up in cockroach motels across the country.

"That would be nice, thanks," she said, finally taking a bite of her muffin.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ruby directed her into Brent, through the town to the outskirts where she followed a narrow road into the trees, halfway up the mountain where she encountered a modest two storey lodge whose bright red roof broke the pine trees with a shocking vibrancy. As she climbed the steps to the porch the wood creaked charmingly beneath her boots and she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Hello there," she paused, craning her neck and noticing the grey haired man sitting on a rickety rocking chair, smiling at her with the kind of pleasantness a traveller liked to find. "You must be the lady from DC," he said, lifting himself out of the chair and extending a hand to her. She took it, surprised at the ability for news to travel.

"Hi. Yes, I'm Temperance Brennan. Ruby said you had somewhere I could stay for a few nights?" The man grinned, gesturing for her to enter the wooden lodging, and like the porch, the door creaked under the slightest weight. "Are you Mr Quinn or…"

"Robert," he said, slipping behind the oak bench that acted as a reception desk. "So, Temperance Brennan," he wrote it down, "you'll be staying for how long?" Brennan made it a week, just in case. Robert wrote this down, too and she liked how the little lodging didn't rely on computers. So many times she'd been standing in a hotel, waiting while the staff fumbled unnecessarily with technology. Robert Quinn was in perfect control, quick and efficient and within moments he'd handed her a brass key with a tarnished fob.

None of the electronic key-card nonsense, either.

She climbed the stairs to the first and only floor, her footfalls muffled by the red patterned carpet that had been tread on many, many times before, yet had never lost its luxurious quality. She thought if perhaps cheap motels invested in this kind of carpeting they wouldn't be so dingy and miserable and she wouldn't have spent ninety dollars a night to stay in a mediocre but charming mountain lodge.

Not that it mattered for she didn't resent the money she'd spent. Her entire trip had went according to her budget, which wasn't low, and if the lodge had a comfortable bed and a fairly nice view of the Montana mountains, she was content.

Her bedroom was halfway down the corridor on the right. Stepping inside, Brennan gave the décor a brief appraisal, noting the understated but comfortable natural wood furniture, the colour of sun-dried straw and the high four poster bed. The room smelt of waxy polish and she breathed the scent into her lungs, pulling back the drapes and pressing her forehead to the glass – breathlessly aware of how spectacular a view her bedroom offered.

The mountain side was dotted with homes and chalets and the trees, darkened by impending autumn, slid all the way to the crystalline lake that stood like an oasis amidst lush forestry.

Brennan pulled open the door, stepping out unto the balcony that spanned the entire length of the lodge and was shared by every room on the west facing side of the building. Resting on the railing, she thought of the Jeffersonian again, so far away and she felt lost in time – transported into the past, where life was simple and pollution, both noise and air, did not exist.

A shuffle at the far end of the balcony brought her back to the present and Brennan turned, her hair catching the breeze and breaking free from the knot she kept it bound by.

Resting against the wall a man with sandy blond hair and hooded grey eyes offered her a brief smile, flashing a quick glimmer of brilliant white teeth. "Hello there," he said, straightening, his broad shoulders shifting behind his denim jacket, and the breeze caught his hair, too, sending tuffs of caramel strands over his eyes – the same colour as slate. Rain soaked slate.

"Hello," she replied, curling her arm around the wooden support pillar, tilting her body in an automatic defensive stance. It never failed to deter men from straying too close.

"How's is going?" the man asked, clutching the railing with big bronzed hands. She watched the tendons shift beneath his skin and found herself drawn to the brutal masculinity of them. Snaking her tongue across her dried lips she struggled to summon a smile.

"Fine, thank you," she said and he followed her gaze, probably noticing her fascination with his hands. Angela would have wanted to draw hands like those. Lifting one, he extended it towards her, urging her attention upwards to the shimmering depths of his eyes.

"James Carson," he said, "I'm Robert's stepson." Slipping her hand into his she found her smile at last.

"Temperance Brennan," she said and when he turned she was certain she caught the scent of gun powder on his clothes.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The couple shall be reunited in the next chapter – although I don't guarantee happily!


	5. Extinguished Spark

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **Not M, but eventually, yes.

**A/N: **Blah, blah, do you like, yay or nay? Don't forget to let me know.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Booth drained his glass, swiping away a moustache of foam, turning to Parker who lay, nuzzled into his side. Ruby, the waitress from Seeley Lake stood at the edge of his table, black hair caressing her cheeks as she watched the dozing boy with genuine fondness.

"Nice kid," she said, her scarlet red lips curving into a smile. "Looks just like you too, Dan," The child shifted, his fingers clenching in his sleep – a sure sign of an impending nightmare, another one of many.

"Thanks Ruby," he said, pushing his glass away. "We should be getting going though." It was six thirty, no where near Parker's normal bedtime and certainly not late, but he'd been struggling to find new reasons to reject Ruby's advances and the more she pursued the harder it became. The woman looked stricken as he slipped his arms beneath his son and shifted out of the booth, careful to avoid her questioning eyes. He suspected she was a lady not familiar with being turned down – at least not quite so many times.

Parker murmured in his sleep and Booth thought he heard a whisper of 'mommy' in his subconscious whine and his heart twisted as it always did. It was _his_ fault the boy's mother was dead. It was his fault that he was exiled to Montana and forced to overcome the grief of not just one death, but two.

"Dan," Ruby said, dropping a hand to his arm, "relax. You're always so uptight." His muscles contracted as he held his son close, almost as though he were afraid to lose the kid. Maybe he was. He'd learnt a lot in the past ten months and one of those things was that he'd been a lousy father before Parker was put into his permanent care.

"Parker has been having nightmares," he explained with a hiss, "about his mother-"

"Who died in a car accident, right?" Booth swallowed.

"Right. And I just want to take my boy home. Let him rest." Whatever Ruby said in response, whether it was reassuring or questioning, he did not know. For the world seemed to slow and everything moved as though someone had pushed a 'reduce speed' button. The barman, pouring beer into a glass, looked as though he'd suspended the golden liquid in midair and the patrons of the bar, talking to one and other, seemed to speak in a slightly distorted slow motion, their lips moving with comical twists.

Across the bar, at the far end, wedged between the jukebox and the cigarette machine, talking amicably, Temperance Brennan leaned into the sultry conversation of James Carson, her hands shifting as she caressed a glass of white wine in her hand.

It should have been the fact the she was talking with another man that stunned him into breathlessness – but it was knowing that she was alive, not dead, that left him unable to draw oxygen into his lungs. It was the way her mouth moved, her eyes blinked and her heart beat.

Ruby touched him again and he stepped aside as if she had scalded him. Parker shifted, opening his eyes and shifting his gaze around the bar. It took a long few moments, but when he saw Brennan, despite only having ever seen her once in his young life, he grumbled 'The bone lady' and pointed across the smoky room. It was this smallest childlike gesture that prompted him to move. He needed to get out – into the air, away from her.

"I have to go," he said, moving towards the door like a frightened animal. As he did, his foot caught the leg of the barstool and the chair tipped, the heavy wood hitting the floor with a thunderous crash.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

James told her he thought she was lovely, for a city girl, and she smiled.

"There's nothing wrong with city girls," she protested lightly, her hand brushing his arm, noting the way his biceps rippled in response. It was the first time in almost a year she'd felt any kind of physical attraction to a man. Any man. Yet something felt wrong. She felt as though she were betraying herself. The logical part of her brain snapped at her inability to move on and enjoy the attentions of a fairly handsome, rugged man.

"Well," he sighed, "there's certainly nothing wrong with you, Temperance." It had been so long since anyone called her by her name that a tremble coursed through her spine. She couldn't be certain whether or not she liked the endearment, but James didn't afford her much chance. "What do you do, then? Professionally, I mean?" Brennan drew a mouthful of delicate wine into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the golden liquid.

"I'm an anthropologist. And a writer." James' eyes twinkled and she thought they looked like wet slate that had been warmed by sunshine.

"Well, isn't it good enough to be just one or the other? An anthropologist _and_ a writer?" Brennan smiled, flattered by his kind surprise and irritated because in DC there would have been a certain amount of blasé. People weren't shocked by successful people in the city. The country, however, was a different story altogether. "And what do you write, then?" James asked and she emptied her glass.

Brennan wanted to respond, to explain the details of her newest novel which had only just been stacked on bookshelves across the world, but across the bar, an almighty crash disturbed the peace and all eyes spun to the dark haired man carrying the child, bolting towards the door like someone possessed.

Her hand stilled around her empty glass and her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment as she watched the unmistakable figure pull the door open and breeze out into the parking lot. It felt as though someone had slapped her across her face and her eyes probably reflected her stunned disbelief.

"Has Dan gone crazy?" James asked, sliding his glass across the counter, slipping beyond her and towards the door.

"He said his kid's been having nightmares," Ruby called, smoothing her shirt over her ample bosom. "But the guy gets weirder by the minute." Brennan felt her skin prickle with apprehension, for she knew the exact reason why Booth, insensitive and unfaithful Booth, had run. He'd seen her, thought about his precious façade and wondered if she might ruin the life he'd created for himself in Montana.

"Who is he?" she asked Ruby, resting her arms on the mahogany bar.

"Daniel McClemmons. He arrived here last November. Hardly seen any of him all winter then he started private shooting tuitions. Doesn't talk much and we're starting to think he's completely asexual for he hasn't had a woman since he arrived. Believe me honey, I've tried." Brennan, famous for her inability to remain impassive, turned her cool blue eyes on the waitress who had so kindly helped her out earlier.

"Is that really an image you want to project?" she asked with her usual amount of abysmal tact. Ruby looked stung.

"Listen honey," she said, her tone bitingly aggravated, "You're getting cosy with James and you've only been in Brent for five minutes. Live and let live." Brennan pushed herself away from the bar, desperately needing air and suffocated at the prospect of going outside and coming face to face with Seeley Booth aka Daniel McClemmons.

Trailing her fingers through her hair she spun, colliding into the solid wall of James, caught unaware, her body stiffening when his hands reached out to catch her. "Whoa, steady there," he said with a wide smile. She realised now how young he was. At thirty he was probably at least five years younger than her. She felt foolishly aware of her own lack of sensibility.

"I'm sorry," she apologised, pulling free. "I've just realised that I need to call home." A lie. A badly veiled, very transparent lie. Her cheeks flamed at the predictability of it.

"I'll take you back to the lodge, then," James said, turning on his heel. Her stomach knotted at the prospect of riding in the car with him, being forced to feel his lingering gaze on her as he contemplated what she'd be like in bed and her wayward, emotions, whipped into frantic turmoil, wouldn't be able to resist wondering the same thing about him. She didn't want to deal with it. She was, after so many months, still at risk to jumping into bed with a man as a rebound.

"No," she said, tossing her head, "I'd rather walk." James looked incredulous, his grey eyes wide, like the bottom of a Teflon saucepan.

"It's four miles, Temperance," he said, his blond brows knit together in confusion.

"I need the air," she said, fanning her cheeks. "Don't worry, I'll find my way."

As she burst into the parking lot, the neon sign shining over her she wondered where she'd find her way to. Her statement had so many lingering implications that she wasn't ready to face. All it took was one fleeting glance at Booth and her heart was breaking all over again. Breaking like it had when Angela had sat by her bedside, explaining that Booth had his reasons for never turning up – not even when he thought she was dying. She _did_ understand, but it didn't stop her hating him with every fibre of her soul. Hating him – and loving him to death at exactly the same time.

The sea of tranquillity that had surrounded her earlier had become a raging storm and as she left the parking lot, taking a left and heading towards the mountain lodge, Brennan wondered if she would ever be free of the emotions that lingered so close to the surface of her mind, all the time.

Stopping, she rested pressed her fingers to her temples, the sound of her heartbeat audible inside her ear drums as she rubbed slow circles, easing the pounding ache inside her brain. After a long moment, she realised James was behind her, the sound of his truck humming as he crept along the narrow road, keeping pace with her. Sighing, she pulled a tight, almost reassuring smile and turned.

"Get in." Her smile faded when she saw him, his head poking out the window of his red truck, his lips a grim line. She never expected herself to saying anything so vulgar, but she did.

"Fuck off." Parker, in the seat beside him, shifted his eyes.

"Get into the truck, Brennan," Booth demanded and when she heard voices in the parking lot, she thought perhaps their farcical denial of each other might be caught out, and slipped into the passenger side of the truck. The door barely slammed shut, when Booth pressed his foot to the accelerator and sped off.

Two miles passed in stiff, pungent silence before Booth spoke. "How have you been?" Her eyes snapped towards him and she growled.

"I don't want to speak with you, _Dan_," she said, crossing her arms over her torso. "Drop me off at the lodge and I'll be gone by tomorrow. Exactly as you'd want." His smoky eyes remained steadfast on the road, his knuckles white around the steering wheel.

"I want no such thing," he said at last. "I'm stunned to see you. How did you find me, Bones?" Her instinct was to demand that he never call her Bones again, but she was too wrapped up in his inflated ego.

"Do you think I was _looking_?" she asked. "This is pure happenstance. I did not find you on purpose, believe me. I'd just as soon cut my hand off than cross paths with you again, you selfish bastard." Her language was vulgar, more so than she had ever heard it in her entire life. But he brought about a deep sense of buried hurt that resurfaced every time she looked into his eyes and saw a reflection of their passion. Their love. And she hated him all over again.

"You're risking my cover," he said flatly.

"Like I said," she barked, "I wasn't looking for you."

"Yes," Booth replied, "like you said. I see you've got yourself acquainted with James." There was an unspoken insinuation in his tone as he rounded a bend in the road, glancing at her sideways. She cleared her throat.

"Well yes," she said sharply, "I couldn't wait on you forever, could I?" He pressed his foot to the brakes, swallowing so hard that she heard it. Saw it. "Unfortunately no one is worth that much hurt." Booth nodded slowly, turning his head towards her. Beside her, Parker looked up at her face with the same dark intensity as his father. Booth's lips parted, as though he wanted to speak, offer her long overdue apologies, but instead he spoke only two words.

And they weren't 'I'm sorry'.

She heard his voice, spill out from his lips in a breathy whisper. "We're here," he said and the world crumbled down around her, again.


	6. Sexual Confidence

I'm so tired of being here

Suppressed by all my childish fears,

And if you have to leave

I wish that you would just leave

Because your presence still lingers here,

And it won't leave me alone,

These wounds won't seem to heal,

This pain is just to real,

There's just too much that time

Cannot erase.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Pulling the drapes over the window, she released a sigh that sounded like a hiss of rage. Here, in the Montana mountains, the place where she thought she could have sought refuge from the bombardment of emotional confusion, she felt more confused than ever!

The rings that held the curtains rattled noisily and her fingers tightened around the fabric.

Hate, she decided, was the most confusing and tiring of all the emotions she felt. She wanted to hit him. Really inflict pain. As much as her body could physically allow. If only he understood how she'd felt when Angela explained why he hadn't rushed to her bedside. Maybe if he felt physical pain tantamount to the emotional pain she'd felt when he'd left her bed with an empty promise, it would be alright. But the knowledge that revenge wasn't always sweet just made her feel worse.

There was nothing she could do that would make her feel better. Nothing he could do.

Essentially she was trapped within the hell of her own hatred because, aside from reversing almost a year of her life, she couldn't wipe away the accumulation of anger and hurt with one swift kick to his balls.

There was no comfort in this fact, either.

She heard a creak on the stairwell, heavy footfalls on the corridor and inhaled. James. She'd been disgracefully abrupt, running away because she was afraid of the lingering feelings she had for Seeley Booth. Why? What would be so bad about feeling loved? Why _shouldn't_ she sleep with him? Booth had no hold over her, any more. In fact, Booth wasn't even _Booth_ anymore. He was not the powerful and confident FBI agent who filled her with bubbling excitement and anticipation. He was Daniel McClemmons a mysterious stranger. A stranger to her.

She heard a fist on her door and released a whoosh of breath. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be worshipped by the handsome younger man. Booth's inability to see anything wrong with his decision had banished any doubts she might have had about the status of their supposed 'love'. She did love him. Once. But not now. Impossible love was a foolish love – and she was _not_ a foolish woman.

Yanking open the door, she prepared her apology in her mind. It almost came out in a torrent of jumbled explanation which she fully intended to finish with a 'lets start over'. But the dark haired, silently fuming man in the doorway silenced her. Left her trembling from her knees.

"If I were a million times more selfish than I am, I'd have a long way to go before I caught up with you," were his first words, layered with the kind of steaming anger that made a retort virtually impossible. She was stunned, rooted to the spot, certain that even if she could speak, the vehemence with which she hated him at that moment could never be conveyed with mere words.

"You betrayed me," she whispered, her fingers clenched around the door frame. "You lied, telling me you would come back and I was expected to believe it. I did. Like a fool." He trashed his hand, clicking his tongue.

"You haven't given me any time! Do you think a year is enough time, Brennan?" She stepped back, realising in an instant that she'd made a crucial make by making space to let him into her room. He slipped past her, pressing his hand to the wall with enough force to shake the paintings that hung there. "If you'd seen my son, just once, when he was having his nightmares, you'd understand why I can't go back." Brennan lifted her chin, coolly defiant.

"Would I?" she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts, her lips a tight, unwavering line.

"No," he said, shaking his head with the dark dejection of a person whose soul had been squashed. "Probably not." She felt stung – as though he were calling her heartless, even though this was exactly what she was calling herself. To her, he wasn't a father anyway. Had he been so concerned about Parker when his mother was alive? Did he think riding off into the sunset gave him a certificate in good parenting? To Temperance Brennan, who didn't understand or appreciate parenthood, Booth had no right to march around, telling people his son was the reason for his selfishness. But when _he_ called her heartless and suggested there was a lack of understanding, it filled her with rage.

"Get out," she said, sucking an unsteady breath into her lungs.

"Why? Expecting someone?" Her blue eyes, the colour of a gas flame, flashed hotly.

"Maybe," she said before shaking her head. "Yes, in fact." He sneered, his dark brooding features doing exactly what she hated them doing; making her body react. Through his anger, there was a hot, almost tumultuous emotion that longed to burst through and it pulsated between them like a dam, ready to burst. Trickles had already started to spill forth, and when she met his gaze, the walls shattered and a wall of feeling exploded.

"Missed me, then? Did I make such a big impression on you, Temperance, that you're ready to jump into bed with someone else? James? He's not your type. There isn't enough intellect." She knew he was right, but there was no way in hell she was going to admit it.

"It didn't stop me sleeping with you, did it? It's not like we, you and I, are on the same plane on intelligence." Booth smirked, far from wounded. He just looked amused.

"Yeah, but you liked it when I fucked you." She wasn't entirely sure what possessed her, but her hand lifted, pulled back and flew forth, plummeting through the air where it almost collided with his cheek. She _almost_ experienced the satisfaction she so desperately sought and if it weren't for his super reflexes, catching her wrist, spinning her and forcing her against the wall, she would have.

She squirmed, her arms tense as she pulled, trying to break free of his tightened grasp around her. Her foot, slamming against his toes, had no effect, her knee, bumping his thigh, dangerously close to his groin, proved only to make frustrate her further. "Let go of me!" she snapped, breathlessly alert, certain that even Booth wouldn't have the audacity to be sexually aroused, despite the probing length against her hip.

"No," he said, "not until you admit that you're blowing this all out of proportion and you have no right to be angry at me!" She stilled, meeting his gaze.

"I'm not angry," she said slowly, "I just hate you." He smiled, languid and fluid, like a lazy cat that was quite confident that it did not need to rush itself. He always radiated that kind of cocky confidence. She stiffened her spine, determined not to be lured into the carefully sex trap.

"You love me," he said, "there's quite a difference." She scoffed.

"Loved. Past tense."

"Love, present. Will continue to love, future. It'll never be past tense." She rolled her eyes, his grip finally loosened enough for her to break free.

"Aren't you Mr Confident?" she tried to move, finding herself pressed against the wall, his solid length holding her in place, even without his hands.

"I'm only confident when I'm right," he cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to her lips, her flushed cheeks, the evident, angry arousal.

"Where's your son now, Booth? Why aren't you thinking about him?" He chuckled. The bastard even had the audacity to chuckle.

"Now, now," he whispered, "don't change the subject." His mouth fell on hers, hot, hard and heavy, taking her by surprise, filling her body with an inexplicable amount of lust. She trembled, groaning, her fingers pressed against the wall as she summoned the energy to hit him. When his tongue slipped between her lips, however, it was like coming home. She felt a familiarity wrap itself around her, like soft cotton and silk, and bind her, holding her in place. She couldn't move. When he pulled back, she felt everything crumble. "I better go, I wouldn't want James to see you all flustered like this. He'll be disappointed when he doesn't have the same effect." Brennan hissed, pushing him away.

"Don't be jealous, Booth," she said and he laughed.

"I'm not jealous, Temperance," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She shifted away, burned by his touch. "What have I got to be jealous of? You know where to find me when he can't satisfy you." Brennan had no idea how accurate his statement would be. Not only about James being quite unable to satisfy her, but what she would end up finding him while looking for just that. Satisfaction.


	7. Fair Game

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. No infringement intended.

**Rating: **Still T, folks – but there will be a saucy M, soon.

**A/N: **Well, thankfully I have found some time to write. If I won the lottery, the first thing I'd do would be giving up work! Let me know what you think of this, and if you think I'll be a sustainable story.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

James replaced the magazine in his weapon and fired three shots, missing his target entirely. Behind him, Dave McClemmons chewed on a stick up gum, propped against the wall with his usual silent brooding.

"Concentrate," he demanded, his dark eyes watching swaying target with unspoken disapproval – while aiming for the head, James had shot the target's groin, twice and his right arm once. "Your aim is atrocious today." James leaned forward, resting his arms on the bench.

"Man," he sighed, "my head is all over the place." Booth cleared his throat, rolling the gum between his teeth, quite certain that whatever had James' head in a spin was something he didn't need to know about. "Have you seen the new girl in town?" James turned the weapon over in his hand, running his fingertips over the cool metal, his eyes downcast.

"I've seen her," Booth said, removing his own weapon, willing himself to change the subject. But suddenly, inexplicably, he was perversely interested in what had transpired between them. "Lady from D.C. right?" James nodded.

"Right. Hey, you're from that neck of the woods, aren't you?" Booth shrugged easily, removing the safety lock on his gun and turning to the second target that seemed to beckon his attention. Back home, the firing range was often his only source of release. That and the gym. "She's been on my mind, dude. The other night, right, I went to her room, she was wound up like a spring… like… man, she was tense," Booth aimed his weapon, his shoulders so tight he thought his muscles might explode, "so I ask her if she wants to… you know?" He did know, and his finger squeezed the trigger, popping to bullets through the target's heart. "Wow," James said, momentarily distracted, "you won't miss when you aim, do you?" Booth threw a sideward glance, his jaw tight.

"Concentrate James, get the lady out of your mind and focus on the target." The door slid open, a narrow beam of concentrated light slipping across the darkened floor. He blinked, turning with James and holstering his weapon.

"Temperance!" James said, striding across the floor, his grin wide. She stiffened when his arms slid around her waist, pulling her against him. Booth averted his gaze, reeling the target it, and replacing the cardboard man. "How are you?" Brennan slipped from his embrace, a tight smile stretched across her weary features.

"I'm fine. I was hoping to find a man here who can teach me some shooting techniques…?" Booth turned to her, his eyes narrowed, watching how her crystal gaze met his with a steely sort of determination that was still prickly at best. "Daniel McClemmons? Hi there," she said, brushing past James, thrusting her hand out. It was comical, had it not carried such a dangerous undertone. "Temperance Brennan. Think you can show me how to use one of these, then?" He cleared his throat.

"I've twenty minutes left with James here, but afterwards, sure…" She dipped her head once, curt, probably a little to brisk for having apparently just met him. But their hands, still shaking, felt hot with the chemistry and he felt almost guilty that they were playing their game in front of James. Almost.

"Well, thank you," she said, dropping her hand. "I will wait on you, then." She retreated to the corner, sitting on the bench, her long slim legs folded, evoking the kind of temptation that shouldn't have been allowed. Did she think it was wise, playing the game she was playing? Why was she there? To prove that she had fucked James good and proper? He didn't believe it. Not for a minute.

James hit ever target, subsequent to her arrival, and Booth was certain that he had adapted a macho bravado. However else would he impress the beautiful Temperance, if he didn't ensure the bullets hit their mark every time? Booth nodded, as though he were pleased with the progress.

When their time was up, James offered to wait an hour while he coached his newest recruit. Temperance assured him she would meet him back at his father's lodging later, and reluctantly, with doe eyed attachment, he left, a spring in his gait that made Booth's teeth clench with unparalleled annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" he asked with a growling tone when he was sure James was out of earshot. He refused to meet her gaze, to become part of the twisted charade she wanted to play. She could have found where he lived, if she wanted to talk with him in private. But she wanted to stir his senses – she wanted to fuck with him.

"Seeking satisfaction," she said easily. "Isn't that what your ego wants to hear? That James didn't do me right? I'm not unfamiliar with your vulgar sex terms." He chuckled without mirth, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the weapon in his hand. "Well?" She pressed.

"Well what, Temperance?" he said, as though he were bored. "Maybe you're not here for sex today, but eventually you will. It's inevitable." She huffed, either insulted and infuriated. He didn't care which. The truth was, he was too far in love with her to feel anything but anger towards their situation – towards her inability to understand his reasons.

"Maybe you're right…" she said at last. "Maybe no one will ever do to me what you did. But hey, I don't have you anymore, do I? Or I never did." He sighed, turning to face her, finally relenting and lifting his eyes to her lovely blue ones. When he took too long to answer, she shook her head. "I almost died, Booth…" He growled.

"Is that why you're here, Bones? To persecute me for putting my son first? He's a _child_, how is that so difficult to understand? If I get shot, he's an orphan. Do you remember how that felt?" She folded her arms.

"You're killing me, Booth. I just want to be touched by you, but I can't forgive you. I can't." He shrugged.

"I can't touch you until you do. And I can't touch you until you tell James that he's not your type. I'm not that kind of man, Bones." She wondered how he could pretend to be so noble, when he'd slipped out of her bed like a criminal and disappeared to Montana without even a goodbye.

"You want to touch me, though," she countered.

"Yes I do," he agreed, packing away his weapon. "But until you understand the importance of my son, I cannot possibly see…"

"Okay, Parker comes first. I'd like to meet him. Before I go home."

"When will you be leaving?" Booth asked, their bodies close enough to feel the radiating heat.

"When I stop loving you. So, shall we make a 'meeting Parker' date?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Parker, who tore them apart, will bring them together. You'll see.


	8. Cries of Warning

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me.

**Rating: **Ack, T maybe.

**A/N: **I am sitting in the garden, enjoying my day off. I hope you enjoy this.

Parker had mannerisms so similar to his fathers, that Temperance was momentarily stunned by the mirror image. His little frame seemed to carry the same determined stance, his round eyes, the colour of flame melted chocolate, looked wiser than his age – as though he'd experienced the kind of turbulence that could only come from a troubled time. When she stepped up to him, she saw the grief hidden in the five year-olds irises. He lost his mother, a fundamental part of his life, and she hadn't stopped for a second to contemplate the sadness such a young mind must have felt. A twinge of guilt prickled, and she stiffened her chin against it.

Her hurt was not centred around the child. Only his father.

"You found us then?" She started, sweeping her gaze across the lawn to the single storey, modest cabin. Booth stood on the porch, leaning on the railing with an easy pose. He never seemed overly disturbed.

"It wasn't difficult," she said, tucking her car keys into her pocket. "I just followed the road you drew…" she waved the dirty napkin that he'd sketched directions on, realising that she wasn't particularly far from her lodgings. The irony of their situation burned her lungs with each passing moment. Former partners, former lovers, current 'strangers'. It was too much to contemplate. Too surreal.

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, and it was almost as though he were inviting a new friend into his home, rather than a woman he'd worked professionally _and_ intimately with. She felt awkward, as though she didn't really know him at all. Perhaps she didn't. The Booth she _thought_ she knew would not have left D.C. without so much as a goodbye. A goodbye 'fuck' did not constitute, in her world, as good manners. Yet the longer she looked at him, the less she wanted to punch him – the more she wanted to be held.

"What about Parker?" she asked, glancing down at the child who drove one toy tanker truck into another with terminal intensity – sound effects included. Booth watched his boy for a long moment, blinking slowly.

"My little buddy is cool out here, aren't you?" The child nodded.

"Umm-hmm," he said, pushing the truck until it rolled over, down a little makeshift ditch. The kid had destruction in mind. Brennan knelt by him, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"Will the driver be alright?" she asked him, and Parker lifted his eyes – offering her a glimpse of that astounding wisdom again. She saw a reflection of herself – a young teenager, without her parents, and she felt sympathy for the years of sadness the young boy had to come.

"It's just a toy, Dr Brennan," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "there is no driver." She glanced up at Booth, lifting an eyebrow in his direction.

"He reminds me of you, so don't say a word. Come inside, Bones, I've made some tea." Climbing the steps, she followed him into the cabin, inhaling the scent of fresh tea and the aroma that could only come from a recently burned fire. The embers in the stone fireplace still glowed – a vibrant orange.

She watched as he poured steaming liquid into a cup, stirring honey into the mix, just as she liked it. It tugged a little at her insides, knowing that this little piece of insignificant information had not went unnoticed. Nor had it been forgotten.

Where would they have ended up, had he not left? Would he have touched her that night or was his courage fuelled by the knowledge that he was leaving? Her questions burned, unrelenting in the back of her mind as she accepted the cup, drawing the hot liquid to her chest.

"So… why Montana?" He looked at her from behind a rack of over hanging copper pans, his eyes barely hiding the agony within. She wasn't ready for forgiveness – not even close – but she needed to understand why he had chosen the things he had. She needed to know, for her own peace of mind, if she'd ever be able to move on.

"I wanted to be far away from D.C.," he said, as though it explained everything. "Cullen gave me a choice. A few choices-"

"None of them included staying in Washington with the woman you had conveniently decided to sleep with, did they?" Her hand trembled, a river of tea spilling over the cup and along her hand. She ignored the stinging burn. Her stomach hurt more. Her chest felt as though it might collapse into itself at any moment.

"Temperance… don't…" he pleaded, shaking his head and closing his eyes in quiet despair. "Do you think I'd have left if I didn't have to?" She dropped her shoulders, wondering if perhaps she _was_ being petulant. But she knew that hurt had that kind of a grip – the desire to twist the knife was often too strong. She wanted to hurt him.

"Fine… look, lets talk about Parker. How's Parker?" Booth sighed, looking as though his soul was crushed. He glanced down at his own cup, lifting his shoulders. When he opened his mouth to speak, he was silenced by an ear-piercing scream.

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She was blown away by how quickly he tossed aside his cup, rounding the bench in a second, she moved aside, watching as he tore through the living room, knocking over a fine lamp on his way – it crashed to the ground, shattering into pieces across the dark wood flooring. Flinging the door open, murmuring curses, he was into the garden in a matter of seconds, calling his son's name.

Brennan hurried after him, watching how he searched the empty patch of grass, where Parker's tanker trucks lay, like a troubling remembrance of what used to be there. It was almost spooky, to imagine that he was there one second and gone the next.

"Parker!" Booth cried, his long legs taking him into the trees.

Brennan felt her heart hammer with fear, as his fatherly love and anxious concern permeated through the leafy trees, and she pushed aside branches herself, searching, hoping that whatever had disturbed the boy's playtime was trivial and as childlike as it ought to have been.

"Parker?" she called, her voice echoing his. Together they called, wandering in different directions, until she pulled back a wall of foliage, and found the boy, crouched in the dirt, his face scratched with thorns, his knees bloody. She was at his level in an instant, scooping him into her arms, shushing away his tears. "Booth!" she called, with no further regard for his undercover name. It didn't matter.

He was there, behind her, his breath laboured and she could almost hear his heartbeat pounding as he stroked his son's head, arms around the both of them, perhaps by accident – it didn't really matter – she felt safe.

"Parker, don't run away from daddy again!" she said, knowing she probably didn't have the authority to chide the child, but her adrenaline pumped through her veins, showing no signs of stopping.

"There's a man, daddy… a man with a gun…" Parker said, and suddenly their little trio didn't feel so safe anymore.


	9. Echoes of Death

**Title **_Lost and Found_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any of these characters. Well, only the ones you don't know. _

**Rating: **_A tame T – just until I get into the va-va-voom._

**A/N: **_Well, thanks for the reviews and the kind support. I love getting emails into my inbox! Woohoo! Hope everyone is liking where this is going – and little Parker is just to adorable in the show. I want to adopt him and make him mine. _

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There was no time to react – no time to contemplate the whispered words that Parker spoke with awed fear. A gunshot rang out in the air, and behind their heads, wood exploded, showing them with slivers of tree bark. Booth fell over them, forcing their bodies to the ground like rag-dolls, pinned to the leafy foliage by his muscular weight. Parker whimpered, cradled against Brennan's chest, a trail of blood running along his cheek.

"Daddy…?" he asked, seeking reassurance in the way only a child can. Booth pressed his hand to his son's mouth, shaking his head in a silent, warning communication. Parker seemed to understand, for his clamped his lips shut, his wide rounded eyes meeting Brennan's. She saw her own childhood reflected there – the turbulence, the unknowing… the fear. She held him tight, her fingers stroking his head.

In the distance, branches on the forest floor snapped beneath hurried footfall. When Brennan glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locked with the man who she had resented for so many months. She saw his reasons, dark and heavy, and she felt as though she'd been slapped across her face. The gunshot filled her with fear – the determined resolve to protect that she saw in Booth's eyes shook her to the core.

She felt his hand, shifting along her thigh, stroking her through her jeans and she froze, her lips parting as she prepared to protest, until his fingers dipped into her pocket, hooking into the ring that held her keys. His voice was a whisper when he spoke – ragged and harsh. "Take Parker, stay low, get into the car and take him into town. There's a motel…"

"No, Booth," she said, shaking her head, her cheeks tinged rosy with weary adrenaline. "I can't… what if he gets…"

"_You_ can protect him, Temperance," Booth pleaded, dangling her keys before her eyes, stroking her jaw line, a soft compassion and unyielding kindness laced through his internal fear. "I trust you…" she shook her head.

"Don't Booth…"

"Daddy?" The cracking branches continued with rising frequency, and it felt, with each time one snapped, that the clock was ticking and time was running out. "I'm scared, daddy…" Parker said. It was these words that flicked the switch in her mind, that brought out a need to protect. She snagged the keys, bundled the child into her arms, and ran.

They hadn't ventured far into the forest when they set out looking for Parker. But as she ran, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, it felt as though she were sprinting through the Amazon. The trees seemed to go on for an eternity, never thinning, closing in around her as the danger became all too real. This wasn't just her life that was in danger – it was the five year old six that she ran with, whose steady whimpers rang in her ears, louder and more frightening than the single gunshot.

She sucked mountain air into her lungs when they burst out of the trees, with Parker whispering for his daddy and Brennan being unable to reassure him. She spoke a mantra in her own mind, telling herself that the nightmare might just go away. Why did she have such responsibility to ensure the safety of this child?

Another gunshot screamed out, close to her, outside of the trees now – and she wondered why _she_ was a target. Who was the owner of the gun? The Colombians, hunting their foe? Where the bullet hit, the grass flew into the air and clumps of dirt rained down around them. Her car, so close now, still felt like a football field away.

When she slid into the car, she caught sight of a hooded man at the edge of the forest, pointing his weapon at her. Her hand shook as she tried to slip the key into the ignition, and she missed. Parker, sitting next to her, didn't aid her abilities to remain calm. She was infamous at the Jeffersonian for her inability to feel – to display emotion – but now, struggling to start her car, she felt like the most emotional person in the world. Right now, she'd have given anything for some cool collection.

The car started, the sound of the engine like a beautiful symphony as she turned the vehicle, tearing it out of his driveway to the sound of an echoing bullet, Brennan told Parker to get down, and the child obeyed, crouching, curled into a ball in the seat next to her. He didn't move until she was in town, driving on and on and not really knowing where she was supposed to be going. Booth said a motel, but her car would be registered as a target now, and she didn't want to be a sitting duck.

Parker turned his head. "Where's my daddy?" he asked, blood dipping unto his t-shirt. She swallowed, reaching out, smudging the crimson line across his cheek.

"He'll find us soon, Parker," she replied, not knowing if she were speaking the truth. "For now, we'll find somewhere to stop and get you cleaned up." The child nodded, swinging his legs. Children, so resilient. He trusted her, without having any reason to. He believed that she would protect him – and it was a promise she couldn't be assured to keep.

She drove for twenty four miles, her heartbeat never slowing for the entire journey. She thought about Booth, wondering if he was even alive. Would she see him again? Would she have to tell Parker that his daddy had been shot dead? Suddenly the threat of the Columbians, and Booth's reason for going into hiding, seemed to real.

The Cozy-Shack Motel was not so cosy and definitely a shack. But with a parking lot to the rear, keeping her car off the main road, it seemed like the safest place to stop. She paid for a room and asked for a room on the second floor. The owner watched her with unveiled suspicion, aware of her jumpiness and Parker's bloody appearance.

"No trouble?" the woman asked, tapping Brennan's credit card on the counter.

"No trouble ma'am," Brennan agreed, shaking her head. If she was lucky, she'd be out of the shabby building within an hour. _If_ she repeated in her mind, she was lucky.


	10. Guilt

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine.

**Rating: **T, and not the warm liquid kind.

**A/N: **Well, no posting yesterday because I came home, fell on the bed and slept. I am yawning now, too, because I'm so tired but I get withdrawal symptoms if I am away from my precious stories for too long. Good news, for me at least, is I am off work tomorrow! Let me know if you like this by clicking the little button. Thanks.

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"Dr Bones?" Brennan massaged her temples, resting her elbows on the old, chipped dressing table. She wondered how her 'get away from it all' vacation had somehow turned into an escaping run for her life. Each time a car door slammed in the parking lot beneath her, she was on immediate alert, prepared to climb out windows and shimmy down drainpipes. Or, on moments like now, when her adrenaline was almost pumping out her ears, she would have used any one of, or perhaps all, the martial arts she was trained in.

"Yes Parker?" she said, careful not to allow weary exasperation to seep into her tone. The child, sitting on the bed, knees drawn to his chest, looked tired, his eyelids drooping but his body unwilling to let him sleep. Outside, halogen lamps burned bright, casting a beam of luminous light into their tiny room. Night-time rained down on Montana and there was still no sign of Seeley Booth.

"Where's my daddy?" It was a question she did not want to think about. At night, the threat seemed so much more real and she dreaded to imagine what had transpired in the forest once their lucky departure.

"I'm not sure," she admitted, pinching the top of her nose, lifting her head and catching sight of her eyes, heavy and dark, in the mirror. She looked like someone who had been _having_ a relaxing holiday and who had been tossed and battered in a storm. Days worth of emotional stress, coupled with the muscular pain she felt now, made her feel worse than she had immediately after being released from hospital – and her leg throbbed now, too.

"Can I watch TV, Dr Bones?" Parker asked, shifting beneath the wool comforter, a mossy brown colour.

"Sure," she said, thinking that the television might provide some kind of distraction and break the thick silence that made each lower noise sound like an explosion in her ears. The screen came to life, splashing blue colour across the once ivory walls. Brennan brushed her hands over her thighs, removing accumulated dampness on the denim and swallowing bile that tightened her throat. There she was, responsible for someone else's child – afraid that she was a target – a threat to an innocent little boy. Would she be his saviour or his demise?

Lifting the receiver on the telephone, she dialled Angela's telephone number by heart. The time difference ensured that the answer she got was sleepy, muffled and not entirely happy.

"'Lo?"

Brennan cleared her throat, her shoulders easing just at the sound of her carefree, slightly unhinged best friend. "Hi," she whispered, glancing at her own slim wrist watch. At eleven thirty, she calculated that it was one thirty in D.C. – on a weeknight, nonetheless. Poor Angela, with a return to the Jeffersonian looming on the horizon, was trying to sleep before work. She felt guilty.

"Sweetie?" Angela asked, immediately alert. "Are you_ home_?" Brennan glanced at Parker, his eyes fixed on the late night cartoons that flickered across the screen.

"I wish I was, Ange," she said, turning back to the mirror, the weariness of her features highlighted by the bluish light.

"Where are you?" Brennan contemplated an 'in hell' retort, but kept her lips tightly pursed as she wondered what it was, exactly, that she wanted to say to her friend, or even why she'd phoned. Perhaps it was a familiar voice she wanted. Or reassurance. When Angela had suspected Kirk to be dead, hadn't it been Brennan that she'd phoned? The problem that lingered, however, was that Angela's suspicions were right, and as the minutes ticked by, Brennan was beginning to worry that hers were too.

"I'm in Montana," she whispered as Parker's eyes began to droop again, the little boy fighting to keep them open. There was a long silence on the other end – so quiet that Brennan wondered if Angela had stopped breathing.

"You found him, didn't you…?" Brennan felt her own lungs hitch and her stomach do a flip.

"I hoped if you never told me where you found him, I'd never come close to locating him. I wasn't trying." Parker dropped the remote control on the floor, and the sound woke him from his slumber. Temperance sighed, reaching out and stroking his dark hair until her touch lulled him back to sleep. "We're in trouble, Angela…" she admitted, more to herself than her friend.

"You slept with him?" Angela asked, and Brennan wondered how that could even be considered as trouble, now. She shook her head at no one, unfolding her legs and crouching to retrieve the remote.

"No," she said, "I was followed. At least I _assume_ I was followed. Either that or it's an almighty coincidence…" Knowing that she was spinning a web of confusion, Brennan clicked her tongue. "We were shot at today. I got Parker out, and we're laying low at a motel, but Booth… I don't know where he is." The silence dragged on, with Angela's unspoken opinion very clear.

"Get home now," she said, "and we'll get Cullen to sort something out – to find a new place for them." Brennan tossed her hair.

"Don't you understand, Ange? I don't know if he's alive or dead. I'm stranded in a crappy motel with his son and I'm… afraid. I'm afraid, Angela, because now his life rests in my hands – in my care." Her voice started as a whisper, and rose. Angela shushed her, willing to her remain calm. Losing control was something Brennan was not familiar with.

"Relax sweetie, tell me everything that happened…"

When Brennan had retold the story of the day's events, she felt wearier than before, disproving entirely that a problem shared was a problem halved, for in fact, she felt immeasurably worse. "What if I've made Parker into an orphan?" Angela sighed into the receiver.

"Booth must have had a plan," she said, as if it made perfect sense. "He wouldn't have risked death – Parker means everything to him." Brennan realised that Angela was right. He hadn't been willing to put his life, or Parker's, in danger before. He was unlikely to start now.

"Of course you're right," she agreed, and when she was sufficiently satisfied, she told Angela she'd phone again soon.

"Come home, honey… _now_." Brennan promised that she would return as soon as father and son were reunited. Then, as she climbed into the bed next to Parker's, she promised that the moment they were, regardless of her love for Booth, and her thoughts of what might have been, she would let him disappeared into the sunset where he'd be safe and she'd never set out in search of anything, least of all him, again.


	11. On The Run

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, unfortunately.

**Rating: **T, me thinks.

**A/N: **Hope everyone is into this – and what's going on, I know my head is busted, trying to formulate the next step, so reviews will boost my ego, haha.

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Brennan heard the telephone buzz, rousing her from a fitful sleep which consisted of images, dark images, bombarding her mind. Her arm snaked out, reaching for the receiver, before Parker woke. She decided that the kid, with such a turbulent day, needed his sleep.

"Hello?" she whispered, her cheek pressed to the pillow.

"Miss Brennan?" the woman asked, tentative but not in the least apologetic, her voice, however, was a mere whisper. "Olive Spencer," she said, as if this explained everything, "owner of this establishment," Brennan rubbed her eyes, murmuring in response. "There's a gentleman in reception for you – says his name is Daniel McClemmons…"

Immediately alert, she threw back the covers. "What does he look like?" she asked, and the owner's voice trembled a little.

"Tall guy, dark hair, bloody and scratched… I'm calling from the back office because I'm concerned he's an unwanted visitor…" Brennan inhaled, her pulse flicking against her wrist as she pulled back the drapes, glancing down into the parking lot, into the small square room that acted as a reception area.

Bathed in yellowish light from the lamp, Booth paced like an irritated cat, hands on his hips, staring at the closed door beyond the reception desk. "I know him," Brennan replied, allowing the curtain to fall closed. "Send him up." The realisation that he was alive, didn't register in her mind until she heard a gentle rap against the door, and then, as if by pure magic, all her fears evaporated, and she flung the door open, not so concerned with waking Parker, anymore.

He rested against the door frame, dishevelled and looking as though he'd been through an eternity of hell. The jeans he'd worn earlier, were torn at his thighs and knees, caked in blood and she noted a nasty gash in his forehead. She resisted the urge to leap into his arms and thank a God that she didn't even believe in.

"Can I come in?" he asked, and she stepped aside, their behaviour, despite the turmoil of the day, still carried an air of perfunctory grace. She felt awkward, shoving her hands into her pockets, her shirt wrinkled by restless sleep, silken reddish brown strands of hair matted and unruly. "Oh," he whispered, spotting his son, curled up into a ball and tucked beneath the blanket. "You took care of him…" Brennan sighed, dropping her hands to her hips.

"Of course I did," she snapped, "did you think I'd abandon him?" There was a hint of indignation in her tone, and Booth crouched by the child, stroking a dirty hand across his hair.

"No," he replied, "I trust you completely." There was a soft reminder that she ought to hold her tongue, before snapping. He had not yet grown impatient at how she tried to dispel her growing feelings. Standing, he turned to her, lifting her arm and running the tips of his fingers along the red gash that she'd ended up with after a too-close-for-comfort encounter with brambles, while running through the forest.

"What happened?" she asked at last, lifting her chin, willing away the comfort she sought in his touch. "I thought they'd killed you." There was no anger in her tone, no malice, just concern. He brushed his forearm across his cheek, smearing blood across his stubble-coated jaw.

"I was a sniper, Bones," he said, "trained in the art of sleuthing. I'm fine." She swept a critical eye over the length of him.

"You don't look it," she said, sounding cuttingly direct – the same Temperance Brennan he'd always known.

"I'll be fine once I have a shower," Booth replied, his lips quirking a little. Brennan nodded, reaching out and snagging her backpack, slinging it across her shoulders. Her lips were tight and her eyes thinly veiled the pressing sadness that she felt.

"Well, I'm…" Booth shook his head, pulling the bag from her, his own eyes burning with illogical anger. "What are you…?"

"You're not going anywhere," he said. "For one, it's too dangerous and secondly, I'm just not letting you." Brennan inhaled, recalling her silent promise earlier. She _was_ leaving, returning to her simple life of silence – and if Booth wanted to continue running and hiding, then he certainly could. Alone.

"I promised Angela that I'd come home," she said, trailing her fingers through her hair. Booth absorbed the information, his eyes flitting across her lips.

"You made a call to DC? From _here_?" He sounded incredulous, and so annoyed that Brennan thought he might shake her. "If you were followed, do you think it's beyond the realm of possibility that these people will be listening to calls placed to your friends? To your work? Jesus, Brennan…" he raked his fingers through his hair. "Get your stuff, we have to move." Moving like a whirlwind, waking Parker and reassuring the frightened child, Booth was like a man possessed while Temperance stood by the dresser, her eyes wide, shaking her head with silent fury.

"Don't you think they'd have come by now, Booth?" she asked, clenching her fists.

"No, they'd have waited on me arriving, Bones. It's not _you_ they want," he paused. "Not yet, anyway." She allowed this theory to sink in for a moment, then the realisation of her stupidity brought her to the present with a thud. Booth was still moving, his shower long-since forgotten. Parker was in his arms, talking a mile a minute, asking questions about the guns, the shots and making sound effects to accompany his queries. She stood for so long, his head snapped round and his eyes blazed. "For fuck sake Bones, don't just stand there!" and he tossed her bag, yanking open the motel room door with a whispered curse.

Brennan followed him down the steps, searching for her car keys. The owner pulled back the drapes in her own room, peering out at their noisy departure. "No trouble," Brennan whispered to herself. "Yeah… right…" It seemed as though her life had been nothing _but_ trouble, recently. One moment, she was plodding along, semi-happy, a reliable partner to a reliable FBI agent, and the next, everything was disrupted – and now, she was on the run, thanks to a stupid drug bust.

"Bones!" Booth called when she stalled, her leg burning. "We have to go, hurry…" Where, she didn't know. She wanted to return to her apartment, to D.C., where she felt marginally safe. At least there, law enforcement could protect her and she wouldn't have to rely on her own methods. Suddenly, all the confidence she had one had in regards to her own abilities to look after herself, seemed futile.

In the car, with Parker strapped into the back, she turned to him, her jaw set. "Where are we going, Booth?" she asked, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. He pressed his foot to the accelerator, careening the car forward.

"Idaho, Bones," he said, "with no fuck ups along the way, okay?" She huffed.

"You can let me off at the state line," she said, sounding venomous.

"No deal, Temperance," Booth replied, flicking the radio on, his jaw working as he contemplated their escape plan. "It's not just my life that's in danger now and like my son, I intend on protecting you."

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Well, here goes another story, hmm? The plot _really_ begins! Let me know what you're thinking… always appreciated.


	12. Into the Sunrise

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I'll cry forever.

**Rating: **T.

**A/N: **It's 23.26 and I am just starting this chapter. Don't expect it to be long, my friends. I am just home from work and I'm back up at five thirty to get to work by seven am. I hope, however, that you're still liking this story – and tonight, I had a cool idea for a _new_ story – I'm getting ahead of myself!

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With the radio too crackly to bear, Booth flicked the knob and the car was plunged into silence. Brennan glanced at Parker in the rear view mirror, watching as he drew his knees to his chest, his head turned sideways as he watched the darkened trees speed by. After a long, prolonged lapse of quiet, the child spoke.

"Daddy?" he said, lifting his eyes. Booth met his, his knuckles tight, crusted with blood around the steering wheel. Brennan wondered what had transpired in the forest – and if Booth had used terminal force to ensure his own survival needs were met. She didn't doubt that this man, whose powerful body would be forever burned into her brain, could be dangerous. "Can I get my GameBoy back?" Brennan turned her head.

"We'll get you a new one tomorrow, Parker," she said, and winced – for she sounded like a substitute mother, appeasing a bothered and restless child. She had no maternal instincts, but try as she might, she couldn't deny the escape for their lives had forged an unlikely bond between them. She felt responsible for the kid.

"Can we, Daddy?" Parker asked, as if seeking confirmation.

"If that's what the lady says," Booth growled without taking his eyes off the road. "For now though, why don't you get some more rest? I'll wake you when we arrive." Parker frowned.

"Arrive where?" he asked. Brennan held her tongue, wondering if Booth had a plan that went beyond 'Idaho'. A house? A motel? A friend? Did he even have any friends, anymore? These questions brought with them, other, smaller ones – like how would he explain to James and the residents of the town that he'd run off with the tourist and almost got killed?

"Just sleep," Booth said at last, fiddling with the headlights until two narrow beams slid across the road like unblinking white eyes. "Bones? You have anything important at the lodge?" She thought about her clothes, some of the gifts that she'd bought along the way and her journal.

"Sentimental value," she said, shaking her head. "My computer, cell phone and passport are all kept in the car. I take them with me everywhere I go." Booth nodded once without speaking another word. Brennan didn't mind, she had plenty of things she wanted to say – to ask. "Did you kill anyone?"

"You don't have much tact, Bones," Booth sighed, "and no, I didn't kill anyone. Which was lucky, because there was four of them, scouring the forest. You led them well." Brennan's eyes flashed, the darkened confines of the car not dark enough to hide the fury that bubbled beneath the surface of her calm resolve.

"Not intentionally," she reminded him tightly. "Although at this stage, they probably don't need to assassinate you. I'd do it myself." Booth slipped his hand into the small compartment at the door, snagging a pistol between his fingers and passing it across the car to her, still in its holster.

"Be my guest," he said when the weapon thudded against her lap. "All this running gets tiring after awhile. Besides, I never liked being called Daniel." So he was Seeley again, was he? The assumed identity was washed away like sand on a beach. It was that easy, apparently, to be someone one moment and someone else the next. "I see the selfishness that has become such an important part of you, still has a grip on you, Temperance." She trembled at his easy usage of her name.

"You can leave me off at the state line if you want," she snapped haughtily.

"I don't," was his short reply. "Although you need to leave the pissy attitude behind, Bones, because it's getting old, now. Not everything is about you." She had quickly realised that, indeed, nothing was about her. Booth would protect his son at any cost – even with her name added to his list of dependants – which she refused to believe she was – Parker was everything to him. And she… "Stop the analysing, Bones. I loved you more than you knew."

"Did?" she whispered.

"Do," he corrected, "but I won't accept it until you stop being so damn stubborn." She half nodded, slipping the gun into the glove compartment, tucking a stand of still-unruly hair behind her ear, watching the black scenery around them. Booth wondered what her silent nod meant, and hoped with all the energy his weary body could summon, that their rift was over.

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As the sun began to creep over the mountains he pulled their car into a roadside café, ordering two cups of coffee, checking on Parker and draping a jacket around his little frame. Brennan slipped from the car, stretching tight muscles and listening to her bones as they cracked.

"You've been quiet for hours," Booth said, passing her a Styrofoam cup of cheap coffee – but at that stage, it felt as though she were holding the purest filter in her hands. The steaming heat rid her body of the early morning chill and she inhaled the scent.

"I've been thinking," she admitted, leaning against the hood of the car, legs stretched out in front of her. "I should be feeling afraid, but it's like embarking on an adventure." Booth glanced at her sideways, his lips a tight, grim line as he sipped.

"The glamour disappears quickly," he promised softly. "Especially when all you know and love is so far away." Brennan breathed out, a foggy cloud of vapour curling around her nose.

"You had Parker," she reminded him, shifting her body as their thighs touched, strangely erotic and nowhere near enough. "You were secure in the knowledge that your boy was safe. Didn't that help?" Booth shrugged, broad sweeping shoulders rising in silent despair.

"A little. But I still needed you. I was still alone, wasn't I?" She turned her head and linked her fingers with his, going against all her instincts and the smallest desire to still be angry at him. It was illogically unreasonable, but she needed to be close to him, to pull heat from his boy.

"I'm here now," she whispered. "And we're not going to be alone, are we?" She thought of her promise to leave, but as his lips touched upon her nose with the soft unspoken promise of love, she realised there was no way she could carry her idle thoughts though. His touch branded her – made her his and even with a price on their heads, she wouldn't have left for anything.

"So," she said, "where _are_ we going?" Booth smiled, taking another mouthful of coffee.

"Wherever the road takes us, Bones. Wherever we end up."

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Where _would_ we like to see Brennan and Booth? And if anyone says _bed_ I will tsk in disapproval. I mean state-wise…

Review, review, review…


	13. The Sunset

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **This characters are not mine.

**Rating: **This is probably just a T rated chapter. I know it's not M because there's no sex yet.

**Author's Note: **I haven't written any of this story in months. I am writing The Keys at the moment but I'm on a different computer for the weekend and I don't have access to the chapter I am in the middle of and since I got a request for this story in my inbox yesterday I decided to write some of it. I hope anyone who was reading this story continues to like it. I'll update again as soon as I can. Who knows, maybe I'll get around to updating other stories, too! Is there any stories anyone is wanting an update for?

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"I don't like this cereal, daddy," Parker said, pushing the bowl of wheat-flakes across the table. He looked irate and weary. Before either she or Booth could reply, the child continued, "when will be stop driving?" It was a burning question that Temperance wanted an answer to as well. After awhile, one stretch of road looked remarkably similar to every other stretch. Even the diners, with their own personalities and individual décor became monotonous after awhile.

"I agree," Brennan said, turning her head to Booth. Her toast remained uneaten on her plate. "Can't we find somewhere, Booth? Somewhere..." she wanted to say 'safe' but everywhere they had passed he had found something about the location that he did not like; too populated, not populated enough, too close to the city, too rural... no matter where she thought was ideal, he vetoed.

"Don't you think _I_ want to stop, too?" he snapped, his knuckles white around his mug. Parker's eyes widened. The child had become used to his daddy, the man he classed as his hero, being short-tempered. Unfortunately he was too young to understand that it was his welfare that made his father so angry. "I do," Booth added softly. "I want to go _home_." Brennan thought of DC. She hadn't spoken to Angela in weeks now and the letter she had mailed from Texas; she had no way of being certain her friend had even received it. Not that there was any information for her.

_I'm fine. Don't worry. I'll be in contact._

She hadn't been in contact because Booth said it wasn't safe. It hurt to think that it might be forever before she could see Angela again. And Hodgins and Zach. She missed them all. "We can't go home," she said at last. "Too much has happened." She had broken her promise to Angela, too. As soon as father and soon were reunited she'd flee. What was it about Seeley Booth that had her so impossibly tied? "Should we leave the country?" she asked. It was a possibility neither of them had wanted to even contemplate. The moment they crossed the border into either South America or Canada was the moment they took a step further than they could ever go back. Their lives would be effectively erased.

"No," Booth said. "We'll find somewhere soon... we will." Sooner or later, Brennan knew they would have to backtrack. Montana seemed so far away now. The little town, with the lovely people she'd met. Booth's optimism did not make her feel any better. "I was thinking of trying Oregon..." He said, finishing the last of his coffee.

So far their route had taken them through Idaho, Utah and then Arizona. They had almost stopped in Arizona for good, until Booth decided he didn't feel right about the place. They moved east, New Mexico, Texas and then Arkansas. Brennan quite liked it there, but when Parker's nightmares intensified, their travels began again. By then, she felt so tired that she almost contemplated leaving entirely. Oklahoma, Kansas and then Colorado. They had been for week now, shifting through the state like criminals. Sometimes Brennan forgot that Booth was the good guy – the one who had rid the country of mindless killers. Not that it did him much good. Or Parker.

"Oregon?" she asked at last. "Will it be the final destination?" Parker watched her face, a touch of hopeful sparkle coming to his lovely brown eyes. She felt a bond with the child now that she doubted would ever be severed.

"I don't know, Temperance," Booth said honestly. When he looked at her, she saw how much he cared for her. She knew that their constant travels were killing him, too; sucking his soul from within. He had made no effort to touch her, to make love to her. She had to be honest and admit that she had no desire for sex. Parker was always in their room, his nightmares sometimes so intense that Brennan couldn't sleep herself.

"Would you like some toast instead, Parker?" she asked, remembering that he didn't like the cereal. He shook his head. "What would you like?"

"Nothing," he said. He didn't sound as though he were being petulant. Parker, despite his vulnerable age, seemed to have grown up so much. Brennan regretted the loss of his childhood for what felt like the millionth time. "Maybe a soda?" he asked at last. Her instinct was to refuse him. It was barely past sunrise and the moment they set off, he'd need the bathroom. Yet Brennan found that she was increasingly unable to refuse him anything.

"Alright," she agreed when Booth didn't speak. Passing him coins, she turned to his father. "Parker needs some stability," she said, her tone firm. "If we go to Oregon, we're not leaving unless you have _good_ reason to believe we are not safe. You've changed your name once, you can do it again." His eyes flashed, hating that she was ordering him. "Okay?" Defeated, his shoulders sagged but he did not respond. "Lets go."

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Driving through Nevada Booth was bitten by the bug of insecurity again and, without warning, he headed east again. Brennan didn't comment until they passed into Utah. She pressed her fingers to her forehead, sighing. "Where are you going?" she asked, her tone firm and irritated.

"Nebraska," Booth replied, his eyes on the road ahead. "No more stopping, Bones," he promised. He hadn't called her by his pet-name in such a long time that she had almost forgotten about it entirely. A warmth settled in her chest at the familiarity. She didn't ask why he had chosen Nebraska. Truthfully, she did not want to know. If he stopped the car long enough to breathe life, she was willing to go wherever she wanted.

"Okay," she sighed. "Nebraska..."

"Hey Brennan?" Booth said a few moments later.

"Hmm?" she replied, barely turning her head.

"You know I love you, right?" A whisper of a smile graced her lips as she turned towards him fully. Her expression might not have give too much away, but the glimmer in her eyes answered. "Good," he said, nodding. "I haven't said how much I... appreciate your loyalty. You could have been running for the hills... you're braver than anyone I've ever known." Brennan knew that she was brave. There were few people who would have been willing to leave their lives behind, just to travel aimlessly across the country, living under assumed identities. "I'm going to be Mr Brennan," he said with a wicked smile.

"Who will _I_ been this? Miss Booth?" she rolled her eyes, tapping her fingers against her thighs, matching the country beat of the music on their radio. In the past few weeks, Brennan had developed something of a fondness for the music. She even knew the lyrics to some of the more frequently played tunes, now.

"You'll be Mrs Brennan," Booth replied.

Her fingers stilled and the song, a Keith Urban classic, disappeared from her eardrum. "The implication being that you think we should pretend to be married?" she asked slowly. "Confessing love doesn't warrant that kind of commitment," Brennan added hastily. The realist in her came to the surface of her psyche, yearning to be heard.

"It's only pretend," Booth said, his brows drawn together. "It's not like I'm actually asking you to marry me. My God, Temperance, you've only just forgiven me for leaving in the first place." Blinking slowly, she glanced at him briefly.

"Have I?" she asked making more of a dramatic statement rather than posing a question. "It takes more than a few weeks to forgive something like that." She didn't want to raise issues that they had tried so hard to bury. "Wait," she hastened to add, "I am forgiving you. I have... I just haven't _forgotten_." Booth nodded, his jaw tight.

"I understand," he said. "Just as you understand my reasons." His eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror, at Parker who was preoccupied with his GameBoy. Brennan did understand his reasons, and each night, watching over his little boy, she was glad he'd made the choice he had. Parker was a loving and endearing child and sometimes, when she soothed away his fears, she felt as though he could be her own. But regardless of her love for the boy, she was still human and she still felt hurt when she thought of being left alone in her apartment the morning after consummating her relationship with Booth. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, their conversation about their faux-marriage forgotten.

"Parker," she admitted but did not elaborate further. It was too soon to admit her attachment. She wasn't sure where her relationship with Booth was headed and she wasn't admit to dedicate herself to his son without first being certain that they were solid enough a unit to do so. Besides, she had no desire to be a genuine mother never mind a substitute one. "Do you want me to drive for awhile?" she asked. Questions had formed in an apparent layer over his eyes and she needed to ensure he did not pry. "Maybe you could get some sleep?" The questions disappeared and she felt her shoulders relax.

"Only if you'll turn off that damn music," he replied. Brennan chuckled as he pulled the car to the side of the road, the engine humming as he unclipped his seatbelt. Temperance flicked the radio off and the only sound was the motor and the jingly music of Parker's video game. Pushing open the car door, Brennan swung her legs out, her feet touching upon the asphalt. A breeze kissed her skin and she inhaled deeply. Hours and hours spent on the road leant an almost stale scent to the interior of their vehicle.

The sun was beginning to go down and the sky was fire-orange against the horizon. She slid her hands into her pockets, committing the sight to memory.

Where the clouds parted and the sky was dark blue underneath, stars prickled the atmosphere and she counted seven before Booth slid his arm over her back, his fingers inching underneath her shirt. The touch of his skin against hers made her forget that she hadn't had even the merest sex drive in weeks. He felt warm and alive against her and somehow rugged. Parker, preoccupied with his game had not noticed the shift. "We don't have to drive, if you'd rather wait until it's dark." Booth told her and she tucked herself into his side.

It never failed to surprise Brennan how quickly the sun disappeared. Ever moving, the clouds changed colours every few seconds, oranges and yellows, blues and blacks, a collage of brilliance against the horizon. From where they stood, jagged rock formations were stunning silhouettes against the clouds and she wondered how many similarly fantastic sunsets they had witnessed but never taken stock of? Lost in their own fear, she and Booth had missed so much. Together they had seen more of their home country than most saw in their entire lives and while they were seeing they weren't absorbing.

"You're sad again," Booth said, almost regretfully. "The sun comes back again tomorrow, you know that?" he asked, forcing mirth into his tone. Temperance smiled, blinking languidly at the sky.

"I know," she nodded. "I'm just appreciating the beauty of the scenery for once..." Booth seemed to understand her without elaboration. She crossed her arms under her breasts. "We should go." Sliding away from the car, she rounded the vehicle and slid inside, wishing to distance herself from her thoughts. Trailing her fingers through her hair, she changed gears in the car and inhaled a steadying breath as Booth got into the car next to her. "Okay," she said, lifting her chin in defiance of her emotions. "Nebraska it is..."


	14. Laying Low

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Still not mine, but I'm kinder to them.

**Rating: **Still just a T for the momento.

**Author's Note: **Still not back at my own computer yet, but I am back to work after 9 glorious days off so I'll be at home tonight. Not sure how much writing I'm going to get done from today onward but you know if I can update, I will. For the meantime, I hope another wee chapter of Lost and Found will keep you guys entertained. Also, thanks for all the recommendations of what I should work on next – I'll keep them in mind and I'll try to get some work done on those, too!

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Nebraska had an abundance of farms. As Brennan drove through the state she thought that it was really just one big flat piece of land that stretched as far as the eye could see. In fact, although she did not tell Booth, she thought there was nothing very spectacular about it at all.

"It's flat," she said when he asked what she thought. Apparently this was enough, though.

"You don't like it," he stated, tearing a slice of apple-pie with his fork. "But we haven't given it a chance, have we?" Brennan shook her head. She'd have lived in a desert sooner than move again. Yet she wondered what it would have been like to live in Oregon, by the lake. "Can you see me as a farmer?" Booth asked, offering her a cheeky smirk. She chuckled over her coffee.

"Nope," she admitted. "Will you teach shooting again?" Booth shrugged. "When are you going to call Cullen?" They had discussed it earlier. He needed to be set up with a new identity. Cullen would be furious that Brennan was his travelling companion now. There was a chance he would refuse to help at all. Temperance sensed that Booth was apprehensive about it. "Have you thought more about what you're going to call yourself?"

"Ourselves," he reminded her, his tone haughtier than she'd expected.

"Ourselves," she corrected softly.

"I was thinking, if we name ourselves something really common, like Smith, then what are the chances of tracing us? Even if they _do_ make a guess at it, it would take forever to go through every Smith in the country. Or Jones." Brennan took his fork from his fingers, cutting herself a piece of his pie. Normally, he'd have verbalised an objection, but today, he was quiet. "Robert Smith...?" She didn't think he looked like a Robert. "Bill Smith? Joe Smith? Paul Smith? Jed Smith?" Brennan laughed.

"Enough with the Smiths already," she said, gesturing to the waitress at the far end of the diner. "More coffee please?" she asked and the woman nodded. "Can you please talk a little lower, too," Brennan turned back to Booth, her brow a tight frown. "Smith or Jones, whatever. Just decide and please call Cullen. Maybe he can help."

She wondered what name she would call herself. Temperance was far too obscure a name to get away with. "Do you miss work?" Booth asked, touching the residual crumbs on his plate with his thumb. Brennan contemplated the question for a long time, despite already knowing the answer. The real question was whether or not to lie. She decided against it.

"Yes," she admitted. "I do. I dedicated my entire life to becoming a successful anthropologist and now, just like that, I've given it all away." She shrugged. "There's a lot of regret." Booth nodded, his eyes downcast, his forearms resting heavily on the table between them. "I've spent a lot of nights asking myself whether this, you, are worth it." His eyes flew up to meets hers, a glimmer of hurt flashing through his irises. "I'm just being honest," Brennan said without apology. "I'm not a great believer in love. Or sacrificing anything for it." Leaning back in the booth, she crossed one leg over the other, touching her fingertips to the rough denim of her jeans. It felt as though she'd worn nothing but several pairs of jeans for weeks.

The waitress refilled their cups, taking away the empty plate. Outside in the parking lot, Parker kicked a soccer ball across the empty asphalt – it was the first time Booth had let the child play without his constant supervision.

"I'd like to start writing again," Brennan said, holding her cup to her chest. "Maybe when we get back to normality... I can get it published." Booth's lashes touched his cheeks as he looked down at his hands, palms flat.

"There might never be normality again," he reminded her. She was silent, preferring not to answer. Sitting with a pale green pashmina over her bare shoulders, Brennan still felt cold. Clasping the edges as she might a shawl, she clenched her jaw. Temperance had always been a strong woman with will stronger than steel. Fierce determination came over her and she forced her emotions away. "It just might not." Booth shrugged as though it did not bother him, but his defeat was evident. Brennan was not going to be defeated.

"So you're going to run away forever, are you?" she snapped. "Never stand up and fight for your rights?" Her sharp tongue surprised him.

"I can't. Parker..."

"Parker is the reason why you must!" Brennan insisted. "If they come looking, Booth, I'm not running away. I'm going to fight." Her words were the epitome of who she was; a fighter. He adored it about her. And revered it. Although he had always held her determination in the highest of regards and respect, he sometimes thought she needed to have a little bit of fear. A little but of uncertainty. "Drink your coffee, there's a payphone across the road that you can use to call Cullen."

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Sam Cullen was not pleased to hear Seeley Booth's voice on the other end of his receiver. His day had been alright, so far. Always an early riser, he had been in the office before his secretary and when the phone rang, he had taken the call without knowing who was on the other end. Word of Booth's adventures in Montana had gotten back to him and he was appalled that the pesky anthropologist had ruined everything.

"Where are you?" he snapped, pacing in front of his office window. Floors below, Washington, D.C. was only really beginning to wake. There was an airy silence on the line, a crackle that indicated he was calling from somewhere quite far away.

"It would be best that I not disclose that information to you, sir," Booth said. "But we need your help." Cullen pinched the top of his nose.

"By 'we' do you mean Dr Brennan?" he asked, his voice a lowly growl. Booth's reluctance to answer spoke in volumes. "I can't help you, Booth. I'm not going to put my own family in jeopardy. I've helped you before." The incident with Booth's ex was tragic but he wasn't going to remain forever indebted to Booth and his son. "The Bureau's hands are tied. Word got back that Dr Brennan is the reason for this... this..." he stopped short of 'fiasco'.

"She was travelling. Finding me was a coincidence." It was obvious that Cullen did not believe this for a second. He imagined that Temperance Brennan went travelling with the intentions of stumbling 'accidentally' on her former lover. Of course, to the FBI, Booth's relationship with the woman was pure speculation but the fact that she was still with him now told him everything he needed to know. "We're not asking much," Booth said, interrupting his angry reverie. "New names... that's all." Cullen slammed his hand on his desk, knocking a few errant pencils to the floor.

"That's all?" he asked. "That's all? Do you know how difficult that alone is? Paperwork, Booth." His head ached and he wished he had just ignored the call. As if he didn't have enough worries about dealing with.

"It won't happen again," Booth promised.

"You're damn right it won't!" Cullen snapped. "If it does, I'll hunt you down myself and I'll kick your ass, Booth!" He felt himself wavering, despite wanting more than anything to refuse them everything they asked for. "Set yourself up with an email address and email me what you need. Make damn sure that no one, _no one_, knows your real names. The minute this gets you, you're both history."

Booth breathed a sigh of relief, wondering why Cullen always managed to frighten him. "Thank you," he said, reaching out to take Brennan's hand. He squeezed her fingers, indicating that everything was going to be alright. Her face did not convey that she was by any means happy about it. In fact, she looked as though she had resigned herself to a life to boredom.

Granted, Booth thought as he replaced the handset, the little town in the middle of nowhere was about as dull as anything they'd encountered yet. The prairies were green, stretching as far as the eye could see. Brennan said she wanted to live by the lake, where she could write and enjoy the inspiration. There were plenty in Nebraska and perhaps they weren't as striking as those in Washington or Oregon but he was sure she'd learn to appreciate them, too.

"We'll lay low for a couple of days, wait on our new IDs coming in and then we'll think about finding somewhere to live." Brennan nodded, turning herself towards a row of old stores that hadn't seen a refurbishment since the 1950s. It was as though they had stepped back in time. Even the one-storey diner was typical of a bygone era. "You alright?" he asked, touching her shoulder.

"Yeah," she replied. "I'm okay." This time, Brennan didn't see the point in telling the truth. She didn't quite know how she felt, and until she did, her emotions were just a mass of incomprehensible thought. She couldn't articulate how alone she felt, looking at the sad little shops, so far away from all she knew. It was as though someone had reached into her life, snatched her out of her comfort zone and dropped her in the middle of a strange town in a strange state. "So," she said eventually, shaking away the feelings she had no label for. As far as Brennan was concerned, no label; no space. "Laying low...?" Booth nodded, his eyes searching hers.

"Yeah... Cullen said we can email him... do you think you can set up one of this anonymous emails from Hotmail or Yahoo! or something?" he asked. "We can't be sure that Cullen's mail box isn't being monitored. We can't even be sure that his telephone isn't." Some risks, Temperance knew, were unavoidable.

"If you can find me a cyber-café," she said. "I can."

Their email to Cullen was so basic that it was almost informal. She typed it once, and Booth re-drafted it so many times that she felt as though he were the writer. All the pleasantries were taken from within the paragraphs, no hellos or thank-yous were permitted. Booth said he wanted the message to be so ordinary that no one would think there was anything unusual about it.

"Anyone tracking this is sure to think it's strange that the deputy director of the FBI is getting mail from Booth," Brennan snapped when he erased the last line in which she'd written '_your help is appreciated_.'

"It'll be untraceable," he assured her. "Or damn near untraceable." He reread the email aloud. "_I'll be awaiting the documentation as discussed. 3 will be required. Send to this address." _In Brennan's opinion, it sounded so urgent that it was distressingly obvious that something was amiss. She pushed his hands aside and amended.

_Sam,_

_Thank you for taking the time to speak with me this morning. Your time is appreciated. I will be awaiting the documentation that we discussed. _

_Kindest regards,_

Before he could object, she send the email and dusted her hands on her jeans. "Hiding in plain sight, Booth... have you never heard of it? By sending something so... vague... you'll be drawing attention to us. For all anyone knows, this could be a personal email from a friend to a friend. Hence _Sam_ and not _Cullen_." Any objections he might have had were never voiced as Parker came running across the road into the cyber-café. He was smiling, clutching his soccer ball to his chest. "I like it here," he said, the knees of his jeans smeared with dirt. Brennan couldn't remember ever seeing the child so carefree, as though the weight of his worries had been lifted from his little shoulders. "There's a boy, I was playing soccer with him..." He pointed to a sandy haired kid over by the diner, who waved in return.

"That's nice..." Brennan replied, hesitant. "What's his name?"

"Kevin," Parker answered easily. "He's _eight_!" Parker, at only six, was obvious thought that his new-found friend was far older. "Can I play with him, dad?" he asked. Booth shifted, back into investigator mode as if he had never been anything else.

"Sure you can," Brennan said instead. "Just stay close and don't leave the parking lot. We'll be going soon." Booth waited until he was gone before taking her fingers in his.

"You're great with him," he said. It was the first time he had recognised that she was playing a role, any kind of role, in his son's life. She smiled tightly. "He adores you." An awkwardness settled heavily on her heart as she wondered how she could avoid the conversation of exactly what Parker was to her.

"I adore him too," she replied briskly. "He's a good kid." Booth sensed that she wasn't ready to treat his son as her own. He understood and accepted it. Perhaps she never would. But she was the one Parker wanted to comfort him at night time. It was her cool hands that stroked damp strands of hair from his forehead and told him everything would be okay. Maybe she hadn't noticed her natural ability to make Parker feel safe, but Booth figured, as long as she kept doing it, he didn't mind that she never took notice of it. "Log off, we need to find somewhere to stay tonight."

The discussion was effectively closed as Brennan slid from her chair and strode across the café and outside.

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Thank you for reading! Don't forget to review!


	15. Playing Mommy

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **T.

**A/N: **Please review. I love reviews.

Lily Bryson would have liked weaving baskets and doing craft-like things. She would have enjoyed painting by the lake, petting baby animals and being a mother. Lily Bryson would have been a true housewife, with flowing curly hair and patience beyond measure. Temperance Brennan, as a writer, could associate names with personalities and her new identity could not have been any further removed from her real-life persona.

Parker Bryson would have been a popular outgoing kid, with bundles of friends and immeasurable confidence. But without social interaction with kids his own age for so long, Parker's teacher said he was finding it difficult to settle into social activities. She said he was happy to sit at the back of class, reading books and entertaining himself.

David Bryson, who preferred 'Dave' to the formal stiffness, was as close to his true self as any of them could be. He dressed the same, talked the same and stubbornly refused to admit he was wrong; just like Seeley Booth. As a macho man, he had never admitted there was a problem with his son's behaviour and Temperance, no expert in sociology, felt as though she were climbing a mountain, all by herself.

"Dr Brennan?" Parker said, setting his crayons on the floor next to a doodle he'd finished; a collage of bright reds and purples and blues.

"Parker, remember you must call me Lily now…" she replied, crouching to his level. Parker shrugged his shoulders and she got the feeling her insistence was in one ear, out the other.

"Ben in school says that I'm a dunce because I haven't been to school in such a long time." His eyes were downcast and as Brennan took his shoulders in her hands, her determination to protect him intensified in ways that she could only deny.

"You're _not_ a dunce," she insisted, never quite comfortable with slang. "You're a smart boy! Didn't you finish _Billy and the Racing Car_ by yourself?" She was genuinely impressed when she learnt this. Parker had taken the book to his bedroom and read it cover to cover. When he was finished he had politely asked if one day his daddy could take him to see a race, too. Booth had been preoccupied with his library books, pouring over hundreds of articles, never telling either of them what he was doing. His response had been vague to say the least.

"It was easy, though," Parker replied, his shoulders sagging beneath her hands.

"It was easy for you because you're clever!" Brennan insisted, ruffling his unruly hair. "Ben only called you a dunce because he's one himself!" The boy sniffled a little, a coy blush coming over his cheeks. She wrapped her arms around his slight frame, pulling his body against hers. With her cheek pressed to his hair, she smelt the boyish scent of dirt and grime and her heart ached for the loneliness he must have felt. "Don't be sad," she said softly, no longer speaking to him but more to herself. She did feel sad, because Parker's emotions were a vivid reflection of her own life, only minus ten years and more vulnerable. If anything, Parker was having a worse time than she had ever had. "I was going to make cookies," she lied, having never made cookies in her life. "Do you want to help?" His eyes were alight with excitement as he nodded, slipping from her embrace as though he had never uttered a word of upset.

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Her job, proof reading newspaper articles paid a lowly income that covered their rent on the lake-house and not much else.

Booth had been offering his services as a marksman and so far, he'd had a few queries and most of them he said he wouldn't recommend giving a gun to. One was a twenty two year old girl, who said she wanted to make sure she was protected at all times. Booth said he knew nothing of her history but she suspected it wouldn't be altogether wise training her how to shoot and hit.

Aside from training, he spent most of his time at the library, driving thirty five minutes there and thirty five back. He never returned with books and he never told her what he was doing while he was there. When he came home, there was a vague distractedness about him that infuriated her. While she spent her afternoons playing mommy to his son, he was scouring the encyclopaedia for something he didn't even have the decency to share with her.

Undressing, Temperance turned the faucet, listening to the old pipes creak loudly. She knew there was much work to be done to the old house but she had no intentions of staying. When she did leave, she would be going home to her friends and her job. It was only a matter of time.

Standing naked in front of the long mirror that was already partially steamed, Brennan could still see the smooth zigzagging of the scar on her thigh, a constant reminder of what had happened to her as a result of Booth's leaving and her partnership with another man. Tracing her fingers over the scar that was still sensitive to her touch, she winced, catching a glimpse of the similar mark on the inside of her arm.

Downstairs, the door slammed and her hand flew to her heart. Despite swearing never to be intimidated by the eventuality that they would be found, she still got nervous each time she thought that moment might have come. As Booth's familiar footsteps bounded up the stairs, she allowed herself to breathe.

"Bones?" he called through the door, his knuckles rapping the w00d. Brennan held her breath again, puling a cotton towel across her naked body as she opened the door. Behind her, the water cascaded over the porcelain bathtub like raindrops. She met his gaze, stepping aside to permit him into the bathroom. His eyes raked over her discarded clothes, the shower, their mutual belongings in one quick sweep. On his hands, she saw that ink that stained his skin. "How was your day?" he asked, watching her face again.

"I done some reading," she replied vaguely, resting her weight on the edge of the bathtub, her knees pressed together. Their one comfortable relationship was strained and she looked towards him with contempt, resenting that she was Parker's fulltime parent and he was a fulltime researcher. "How was the library?" she asked, a hint of malice evident in her biting tone.

"Same as everyday; quiet. Boring." She touched the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth.

"Then why do you go?" she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. His reflexes were immediately as he reached out, his fingers curling around her wrist, pulling her arm towards him. His eyes flew to the pink scar that ran from her elbow, three inches along the inside of her arm. His eyes visibly followed the path of where a piece of broken glass from Agent Holden's car had lodged in her bone after tearing through her flesh. It was one of many.

"This happened during your accident?" Booth asked, his voice low and gravely. Brennan pulled her arm from his grasp, folding it across her chest. Lifting her chin in quiet defiance of her hurt, she nodded sharply. She knew he had noticed them before, but he had never attempted to ask her about how she'd acquired such ugliness. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes darker than onyx, shiny with guilt. Temperance moistened her lips.

"Parker is having trouble at school," she said. "You might want to spend some time with him." Standing, she turned away from him, thrusting her hand under the hot spray. Her sigh was masked by the falling water and her eyes felt hot with tears; not because she was angry because of her accident but because she hated being shut out, kept in the dark from his plans. Whatever he was doing at the library was a closely guarded secret and after all she'd sacrificed to be with him, she hated being out of the loop.

Behind her, Booth shifted and his denim brushed roughly against her free hand. She spun, opening her mouth to ask him to leave the bathroom, when his arm slipped around her waist, his hips against hers. Naked aside from her towel, Brennan felt desperately vulnerable and she did not like it. Trying to slide from his embrace as tactfully as possible, she pressed her hands to his wrists, easing them over her hips as she shimmied towards the sink, where her apple and raspberry shower crème was wedged between Booth's shower-gel and Parker's milk-teeth toothpaste. He had already lost two teeth since their journey together had began, and Temperance was astounded that she'd paid so much attention to such details.

"Brennan…" Booth sighed, reaching for her again. Where her towel gaped, his eyes followed her skin and his need for her was apparent. "We need to move beyond all this… resentment," he whispered, taking her wrist in his hand again. She stiffened, holding the ornate bottle of crème between her fingers, so tight that the plastic was manipulated by her grasp. "I know how hard this is for you…" she shook her head, tossing unruly russet strands about her cheeks.

"No," she insisted, "you don't." His eyes narrowed in question and she dropped her crème in the sink, yanking free of him. Now that she had spoken, she had no way of curbing her anger. "You cannot possibly understand how hard this is for me. While you're doing your research at the library, I'm playing substitute mother to your son; doing his homework with him, cleaning his knees when he falls. I don't even _want_ children, Booth. I resent being forced to play mommy while you hide away in books. What _are_ you doing down there?" He shuffled.

"I'm trying to find the men who are after me. I'm looking for them, Temperance. I want to fight. I want to take my son, and you, home." Breathless with anxiety, Brennan shifted against the sink, her skin cold from where the towel had parted and the edge of the sink pressed against her spine. "I'm making progress. I've got names. I'm…"

"What? What are you going to do? Stalk the men who are stalking you? Murder them?" His cheeks flushed and he shrugged.

"If that's what it takes," he insisted, his tone crisp with annoyance at her scepticism.

"Oh," she laughed mirthlessly, "and while you're doing that, I'll just raise Parker as my own, shall I?" She hated herself for feeling such blunt coldness towards the child. She knew it was her own fear that made her chest ache and feel so tight. Pretending not to care at all was easier than admitting she'd grown to love him.

"When will you learn to let someone protect you, Brennan?" Booth asked through his teeth.

"When I'm not capable of doing it myself!" she snapped in reply, lifting her hand and gesturing wildly to her own chest. "I am not a victim," her hands trembled. "If either of us are a victim, it's you! You're the one who is always afraid." She felt her heart hammer inside her chest as she turned her back on him.

"Brennan…" she shook her head fiercely.

"No," she insisted.

"No, what?" he asked, tracing his fingertips over her back. She shivered.

"I'm not going to allow you to pretend that it'll be okay. There is no evidence of that. It's not logical." A knock came to the door and they both spun, their eyes wide. "Everything okay, Parker?" Brennan called, her voice not altogether steady.

"Um hmm," the child confirmed. "I need some help with my math homework, Lily," he called. She felt her heartbreak knowing that each time the boy used her new name that he was aware of it, and he knew he was telling a lie. It was an enormous weight for a child to carry.

"I'll be out in a moment," she called back, exhaling slowly.

"I'll go," Booth whispered when Parker's footsteps shuffled along the corridor. "We'll talk later." As his fingers closed around the handle, she sighed.

"I can't see that there's much left to talk about," she replied. His shoulders sagged as he glanced over his shoulder. She saw his love, knew it existed despite the evidence. Her longing for sex was back, her desire aching inside her womb but she wouldn't give in to her temptations until she was sure Booth understood how much his treatment towards her, hurt.

"Of course there is," he insisted softly. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."


	16. The Last Straw

**Title: **Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **These characters are not mine.

**Rating: **This chapter is edging into M. It'll be fully M shortly.

**A/N: **I am trying to show how Brennan's feelings for Parker are changing. I am also trying to write a convincing 6-7 year old. Let me know how you think I am doing with the whole dilemma of things. I love to know what everyone is thinking. Thank you!

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Christmas passed in a blur of nostalgia and homesickness and as spring approached, Parker asked the inevitable question one afternoon by the lake.

"Are you my new mommy?"

Tossing pebbles across the surface of the glassy waters, Brennan froze, her heart seeming to still inside her chest. She suspected the question would come eventually, especially since their time together was almost constant with Booth always doing research and now travelling to the Omaha field office for regular meetings with agents he had found to help him on his little crusade.

"No, Parker," she replied at last, touching her fingers to his hair. The child looked up at her, wide brown eyes and a sad smile.

"So… I'll _never_ have a mommy ever again?" he asked, a watery sheen coating his eyes. He looked just like his father, except Booth would never show so much emotion.

"You still have a mommy," Brennan told him. "Just because she's in Heaven doesn't mean she isn't still yours." Parker crouched, taking a handful of round, flat pebbles between his fingers. He was quiet for a long moment, the only sound between them was the grinding of the stone and the whistle of the spring-time wind through the partly leafy trees. It was still chilly and the lake was empty.

"You don't believe in Heaven," Parker said, tossing a pebble across the water. It skimmed three times before sinking. She followed the path of it, watching the ripples spread out across the silvery liquid.

"But you do," she replied, not wanting to lie to him. Parker was a smart boy and she wasn't going to degrade his intelligence by pretending she believed in something she did not.

"Sometimes I do," Parker sighed, tossing another pebble. This one sank at once. Almost as fast as her heart. "But then I think that if there was a God, why would he take my mommy away?" Brennan kept her eyes steadfast ahead, listening to the gentle, almost hypnotic whistle of the wind, wishing that Booth were with her, to be with his son. These were questions that she had no place answering. Booth should have been there to comfort the child.

"Your daddy wouldn't like to hear you speaking like that, Parker," she replied, only a hint of censure in her tone. He tossed another pebble, waiting until it skidded twice before he turned back to her. He was growing out of his jeans and she made a mental note to buy him some new clothes.

"You've always told me to be honest," he replied. How had the child, at such a young age, become so worldly and wise? Was it really her influence or was she simply telling herself that she was doing a good job in 'raising' the boy? "I'm just being honest. I feel like God has…" he stopped, his tiny fingers tight around his last pebble.

"Cheated you?" Brennan finished. Parker's shoulders loosened, and he nodded slowly. A tear escaped him and he furiously brushed at it. It seemed that there was a certain amount of Booth's personality rooted deeply inside him. "I felt like that, too," Brennan told him, sitting on the ground, shuffling to be comfortable atop the pebbles. She drew her knees to her chest and allowed Parker to sit close to her. Sometimes she felt intimidated by his neediness, by the comfort he often sought. Other times, he was her companion in ways his father was so desperately failing. "I used to believe in God, you know…" Parker looked up at her, a trace of the saline tear marking his cheek. "My father used to make my brother and I go to church every Sunday."

"Why did you stop believing?" Parker asked, leaning against her. She wrapped her arm around his shoulder. A cool wind ruffled their hair and she trembled a little despite the sweater she wore.

"I've always been interested in science and I found it wasn't logical." She smiled at the treetops, pensive for a long moment. "Actually… that's not really true." Looking down at Parker, she prepared to tell a truth that she had never admitted to anyone else before. "I stopped believing because I hated God for taking away my mom and my dad." She touched his hair, a gesture of fondness that she thought didn't push the boundaries of her relationship with him. "Just like you." Parker watched her for a long moment, searching her face, probably appreciating the secret that she'd told him. For a moment, she wasn't alone in her sadness of her childhood. She thought it was crazy that she somehow found comfort in sharing her soul with a boy who wasn't even seven yet. "I only tell people that I don't believe because of science because it sounds more logical. And… science doesn't really _support_ that claim that there ever was…" Parker frowned, not understanding what she was saying now.

Temperance chuckled, nudging him with her shoulder. She found it was sometimes easier to talk to him than anyone else because Parker had no expectations of her. "Don't you want to be my mommy, Lily?" he asked and she dug her nails into her thighs, her heart pounding now as she frantically sought the most tactful answer in her mind. She opened her mouth twice, trying to speak, to say anything before the moment passed and it would be too late to rectify her hesitation. "It's okay," Parker said, shaking his head. He sounded so sad that her eyes welled. "It's okay if you are afraid. I am, too. Sometimes I think if I want _you_ to be my mommy then my other mommy might be sad." She bowed her head, the pebbles a blur of greys and blacks as tears gathered.

"Oh Parker," she whispered, drawing him close and hugging him tight.

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Booth arrived home as she was pushing the rest of her shirts into her backpack. The canvas was stretched with her belongings, barely containing what she had accumulated on her journeys. He watched her from the doorway, his eyes hooded as he observed her sharp, irritated movements. After an eternity he spoke.

"What are you doing?" he asked. She straightened, hands on her hips. A sheen of perspiration coated her brow, a strand of dark red hair clinging to her forehead from where it had escaped the haphazard ponytail she wore it in.

"What does it look like?" she replied, slipping her feet into dirty sneakers. "I'm leaving." His features softened and he looked desperate as he stepped into the bedroom and eased the door shut.

"For where?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

"Home," Brennan said, slipping her coat over her arms. "I'm going back to my life. The life I had engineered to be _just_ the way I wanted it. My job, my books and _no_ children." He looked stricken and hurt. Her heart ached as she realised that her words sounded as though she had no regard for Parker. But the truth was, she felt as though she had too many feelings for the boy. "Parker misses his mommy, Booth. And now he has no daddy, either." She pulled her hair free and ruffled the tresses with her fingers. "It's time you became a father again and not some… lone ranger." Clearing her throat she slung her bag over her arms.

"Temperance," Booth begged, sliding in front of the door. "You can't just leave. I _need_ you." She rolled her eyes, a grunt escaping her lips.

"You need a babysitter, Booth, not me." Shoving him aside she yanked open the door and descended the stairs in three long strides. He was behind her, calling her name, pleading with her as she gathered the last of her things, shoving what smaller items she could into her pockets. At last, she felt as though she were in control, as though her life and her sanity were within her grasp.

Parker stood at the fourth step from the top, looking down at her with ashen features. He held a fire truck in his hand and when he squeezed tight, the rubber hose fell to his feet. He ignored it. "Lily?" he asked, his voice a whisper. She pressed her hands to her face, swallowing the wash of tears that threatened to spill unto her cheeks. "Can I come?" he begged, not looking at his father. Booth's eyes flew to his son, wide and surprised. Brennan turned her gaze to the man she had once considered the most noble of all men. She felt contempt for him now, and the love she had held close to her heart was buried beneath resentment.

"Do you understand what you have done to your son?" she asked softly. He was watching Parker closely, but the boy could only look at her. She saw his desperation, his connection to her and she did not want to deny how much she had grown to love him. In that moment, she felt only an overpowering urge to nurture him. She wanted to feel his little body in her arms and hug him until his sadness was gone.

"Parker…" Booth whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

"I have to go," Brennan hurried to say, pulling the door open. As she stepped into the cool spring evening, her breath caught and a muffled sob rose to her lips. She pulled air into her lungs, diluting the sound with a gasp. Behind her, frantic footsteps fell on the stairs inside the house and she heard Parker's whimpered cry.

"You can't leave me!" He said, standing behind her in his bare feet. Brennan was struck by how her first thought was that he would catch a cold if he didn't get back inside, soon. "I know I said I didn't want to make my mommy sad… but I love you, too, Dr Brennan." It was the first time since she'd scolded him for not calling her Lily that he'd used her real name. She froze, her spine stiff.

"I love you too, Parker," she told him, her back to the house, away from him. "But you need to spend more time with you dad." How could she explain to a child that she was leaving to prove a point? How would it sound to his vulnerable, uncomprehending ears?

"That doesn't mean I can't spend time with you, too," he begged, dropping the last few steps to stand by her side. "Please don't leave me." She sighed heavily.

"Things will change, Temperance," Booth promised from the doorway. "You're the only piece of sanity that I have left. Do you think that I enjoy driving to Omaha? I'd give anything to spend all day here with you. With Parker." She swallowed, shaking her head. "I love you. I want to make you happy. I'm sorry if I've taken advantage of you…" A mirthless laugh rose in her chest.

"I've heard all this before…" she said.

"It's the last time," he insisted before she could continue. "I promise." He was before her in a long stride, his hands on her cheeks. She saw for the first time that he was weary, that there were lines on his face that weren't there a year ago. His dark hair had a tiny flecks of grey. He looked older. Unable to look at him, she closed her eyes. Her determination was gone, but the anger and hurt were still raw inside. "I love you."

"Saying it isn't going to prove anything," she said. He dropped his lips to hers, soft and yet in the smallest touch, they were sharing something at last. She feasted on what little he was giving her, quenching the thirst that had been building and building inside. He tasted as she remembered and she wanted more. Sinking her fingers into his hair, she met his tongue and almost fell into his embrace. He stroked the crevices of her mouth, hot and insistent – somehow urgent.

Pulling back, she turned to Parker. "Go inside before you get cold," she told him, finally ridding herself of the persistent thought. "Your dad and I need to talk." Parker shuffled up the steps, his brow a worried frown.

"You won't leave…?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No… I won't leave." She was trapped by her emotions and her dedication to the child. When he was inside, she turned her eyes to Booth, frosty and not altogether forgiving. "These changes are effective immediately or I am gone." He nodded, stroking her hair.

"I'm so sorry," he told her, shifting his body against hers. A flood of warmth came over her body as he senses were awakened by his proximity. She hadn't been touched in so long it was almost as though she'd been celibate forever. "Let me show you how much I love you…" he begged, his fingers slipping under her coat. Her nipples hardened in immediate reaction to his touch and she blushed at the intensity of her desire for him. She moistened her lips with her tongue, squeezing her thighs together. "Let me…" he repeated, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She felt the catch release at the same moment she dispelled a hot breath.

The front door was closed now and Parker's bedroom light at the side of the house cast a yellow glow on the line of trees that surrounded their home. She knew they were alone and her libido came crashing back. As he tested the weight of her free breasts in his palms, she dropped her head back, her skull knocking against the backpack she still wore. She ignored the sting of pain as he rolled her puckered nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pulling on the tight flesh. She whimpered. Between her thighs she was already wet – already needing him.

"Let me…?" he asked and she nodded.

"Okay…" she replied. "Show me."

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	17. Finding Release

**Title**: Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: **They don't belong to me.

**Rating: **M rated.

**A/N: **Hey guys! I've been away for an eternity or so it feels. Truth is, I did abandon this fandom for awhile, but to write my own novel, which is finally – _finally_ – nearing completion. Today, I am off and I'm lacking a little inspiration over in my other word document and I decided to continue on with a chapter of this. Maybe in someone's lifetime, it'll be finished. In the mean time, I hope that anyone with continued interest in this will enjoy my chapter. Thanks for clicking on me!

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Their bedroom had been an empty shell until Brennan added a personal touch. She'd filled crystal vases with fresh flowers every three days, filling the air with subtle, aromatic scents that were natural and devoid of artificiality. On the door handle, she hung fabric sachets filled with lavender and polished the wood with beeswax.

The white walls had been stark and clinical until she'd hung large, vibrant paintings.

And despite her greatest efforts, there had always seemed to be something fundamental that was missing. She'd pondered it, many afternoons as she'd stood in the doorway, sweeping her eyes across the neatly creased bed linen, the riot of blossoms on the window-sill.

Booth stood behind her now, his fingers working the knots of her shoulders through her clothes and she realised, finally, that it was missing intimacy. Physical and emotional feeling had been sucked from their lives, and Temperance dared to hope that at last, it might have returned.

His thumb rotated in a firm circle at the top of her spine, pressing into her neck. She caught her lip between her teeth, surrendering what frostiness that might have remained to him. Starved of attention for so long, the fleeting touches made her feel alive – womanly, again. Wrapping her fingers around the brass bed-frame, she bent her head back, offering her neck to his mouth. It had been weeks since she'd squirted perfume there for there simply hadn't been any need. Booth's tongue flicked out to taste her anyway and her knuckles were white.

He was hard against the curve of her ass and his arousal in _her_ left a breathlessness in her chest. Booth's fingers slid under her clothes, stroking the underside of her breasts. Together, he pinched both her nipples and her hips thrust backwards, into him. Against her ear, he whispered fevered, urgent apologies.

"Don't you know how much I need you?" he asked, taking her breasts into his hands completely. Her flesh moulded to his touch, soft and heavy with arousal. Brennan wanted him to need her. She wanted to feel the necessity of his emotions as she had that first night in her apartment.

His lips peppered quick, insistent kisses along her jaw. He released her breasts, and took her face in his hands. His grip was tight, bright, sparkling glints shooting through his eyes as he glared into hers. She trembled, half with desire and half with apprehension. His fingers dug into the soft skin around her cheekbones, and his jaw was tight. "Look at me," he commanded, as if she have looked away. Her fingers had released the brass frame, and her arms hung limply by her sides. Between her thighs, her arousal still pulsed on. "How could you _think_ I didn't need _you_?" he asked and she opened her mouth to reply – to give him a million reasons why he'd made her feel that he didn't.

Yet when his lips crashed down on hers, the words died on her tongue. Wasn't it so apparent now? she wondered. His grip eased as he soothed the hurt. She leaned into him, greedily seeking the warmth he offered. There had been so many instances when she'd felt so desperately alone.

Brennan tore at his clothes, her hands unsteady as she urged him to undress. Primal need raged through her until she was consumed by it. His touches were too tender – too romantic at a time when romance was not what she craved. He could spend hours pleasuring her later but now she wanted the weight of him on top of her, possessing her and dammit, _showing_ her what need meant. He'd certainly proved that he could be obsessive in a crusade.

Pushing his jeans over his hips, she stood back to examine him in the warm lamp-lit glow. Through the winter, his skin had remained bronzed. His flesh looked warm, and firm. As helpless as they both were, Booth still looked like a protector; thick arms and thighs, taut, flexing abdomen. She trailed her gaze over him, slow and inquisitive – almost fascinated. Between his legs, his penis stood erect and she reached out, trailing her fingertips over his thigh, watching how he twitched.

"Not yet," he growled, when her touch feathered over him.

"Now," she replied, so fiercely in control for the first time in so long that she refused to relinquish it. Wrapping her fingers around him, she stroked him slowly, her grip firm. Touching the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, Temperance was awed by the immediate effect her touch had. Booth's fingers found her hair, knotting tightly in the loose strands. He pulled her close, his penis pressed against her belly. Brennan brushed her thumb over the tip of him, eliciting a hiss that was merged with a moan from his throat.

Neither had submissive personalities and Booth was not content to have her in control, regardless of how much she craved it. Gathering her shirt in his hands, he pulled, exposing her bare breasts to him. She tilted her head in defiance, too aroused to be coy. Her pale nipples, the colour of rosehip, puckered tightly in the cool air. He pressed his lips together, reminding himself of how it would feel to roll his tongue across the pebbled skin.

Brennan undressed herself, standing naked before him. If he hadn't reached for her in the instant that he did, she would have sobbed in frustration. Pressed against the bed-frame, she parted her thighs and let him rest between her legs. The scent of her arousal filled the space between them and Brennan whimpered, her fingers stroking the insatiable desire. She was hot and when he wrapped her legs around his hips and slid into her, she was more than ready for him.

Booth released a breath, stunned at how aroused she was. He cursed himself for staying away from her warmth for such a long time. How could he have let such a chasm grow between them? Her lovely face was flushed, her head bent back. Booth moved within her, holding his breath as he savoured her moist, warm flesh around him. Her lashes fluttered and her fingers tightened around his arms.

Rotating his hips, he thrust into her and her eyes flew open, her mouth rounding into a surprised, elated 'o'. Booth held her, listening to the moans that rose in her throat. She pushed back against him and an eternity without release soon wound up so tightly within her that she thought she'd scream if she didn't come. Booth looked down at their bodies, watching himself disappear inside her, and he rubbed a circle over her clit.

Brennan whimpered, her walls contracting around him. Her eyes were wild and a layer of shimmery perspiration coated her skin as she came, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her body. One moment she was parched and the next, she was drowning in the euphoria that she'd been deprived of for so long.

Booth held her hips, thrust into her twice more. He closed his eyes when he came, promising himself that he'd never neglect her again.

He gathered her into his arms, months of tension, gone. She came easily, folding herself against his body, pressing her cheek against his skin. He wanted to apologise again, but in the wake of their love-making, he was afraid it would sound trite. She must have known, now, how aware he was of his stupidity. Booth kissed the crown of her head, letting his lips linger there for longer than necessary.

He wanted to start a real life with her. One where the constant fear of being found wasn't weighing heavily on their relationship. When he got into bed with her at night, he wanted the only worry consuming him to be how early he had to get up in the morning.

"I promise you," he whispered, "that I'm going to get us home, Temperance."

She extracted herself long enough to look into his eyes. "Lets go to bed," she replied, that wicked glint returning to the depths of her irises. If he wanted to show her how much he loved her now, she was more than ready to let him get to work.

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I've been out of practice for too long. I need to write a couple more Brennan and Booth chapters, lol, because trice, I almost used my own character names in this! Anyway, I hope you like it and if you have time, don't forget to review. Thanks for reading guys!


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